My Zombie Valentine
by Darkinyron
Summary: Surviving the zombie apocalypse isn't just about being a skilled shot and avoiding bites. It's also about defeating your own inner zombies, letting go of the past, and learning that the light switch really does go both ways. Shane/OC.
1. Genesis

**MY ZOMBIE VALENTINE  
><strong>**By: Darkinyron**

**Summary: **Surviving the zombie apocalypse isn't just about being a skilled shot and avoiding bites. It's also about defeating your own inner zombies, letting go of the past, and learning that the light switch really does go both ways.

. . . Have you ever wondered why Shane fell for Lori so hard and so fast? I mean, wouldn't you be a little creeped out if your husband's best friend was dropping L-bombs like 4 days after you hooked up with him? There's a hungry motivation behind every man's madness. While the walkers are ravenous for flesh, Shane is starving for a woman's love. You don't need to be dead to be a zombie. You just have to be hungry, dangerous, and out of your mind.

Pairings: Shane/Katharine (OC), Shane/Lori, Rick/Lori, 'n maybe a few others along the way . . .

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><p><strong>Disclaimer: <strong> I don't own _The Walking Dead_ or any of the characters, places, etc. associated with it. It all belongs to Robert Kirkman. I only own my original characters and the words I've written here. I'm writing this for fun; no copyright infringement intended!

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I've had this story brewing in my head since the middle of Season 1 and could not resist writing the idea down! This story will be loosely based off of the television series, but still follow it for the most part. I started writing this after the second episode of Season 2 so most of the significant differences you'll see will start to occur when the story's timing meets that point, since I have completed chapters that I wrote before I saw the rest of Season 2. Since the TV series varies so drastically from the comic books, I hope this won't bother everyone. The one major difference I have is that in my story, there is actually a virus that produces zombies, so only those who are bitten or scratched resurrect. I'm doing this because it's more "realistic" and medically explainable in my opinion; I was really disappointed when the TV show took that stereotypical route of everyone turning into zombies after they die.

This is _not_ going to be one of those "Mary Sue" or "Gary Stu" stories. While it will delve into the soft sides, perfectionist ideals, and private wishes of the characters, their personalities, traits, conflicts, and typical actions will be maintained as we see them in the show.

Also, this story is rated 'M' for descriptive violence, language, zombie mealtime, and smutty adult/sexual situations that will show up in following chapters. ;)

ENJOY!

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><p><strong>~ CHAPTER ONE ~<strong>

**GENESIS**

THE INCESSANT HEAT that beat down from the sky radiated off of the Georgian landscape, exacerbating the heaviness that lurked in the police environment following the previous day's shootout. Worry regarding the recovery of Rick Grimes was on everyone's mind, especially after his department learned that he had slipped into a coma following his surgery. Nobody knew why; his gunshot wound had been painful but not life threatening. The bullet and its fragments had been removed successfully and the damage repaired. But for reasons the physicians could not explain, the highly respected deputy that everyone in the department looked up to had gone comatose. Aside from his survival, the other concern on everyone's mind was whether or not Rick had been exposed to the mysterious sickness that had recently erupted in several of the nation's major cities, including Atlanta. All of the deputies knew that the hospital Rick was recovering in was now admitting patients who were trickling in with symptoms of what all the news stations were labelling an epidemic due to its rapid spread across the globe and terminal diagnosis.

Deputy Katharine Burke felt on edge in the passenger seat of her patrol car as she watched her partner, Deputy Jason Crandall, issue a speeding ticket to the middle-aged man they had just pulled over. Flashing red and blue flickered against her surroundings from the emergency lights above and drew her into a spacey trance which she easily succumbed to. Her mind was racing, elevating her stress level as well as her heart rate. She rubbed her tanned forehead and temples, trying to will the headache it caused to cease. A faceless voice came through the car's FM radio immediately following a song that she had not even paid attention to, beginning a fresh update on the spread of the virus. It reported that now, thirteen cases had appeared in different parts of Europe while seventeen had shown up in Tokyo, Japan. Hospitals were beginning to quarantine patients to prevent spread until the method of transmission could be uncovered. It advised listeners to stay home as much as possible, avoid contact with strangers and surfaces that were frequently touched by them, and to call their family doctor should they develop a fever and heavy cough. The deputy rolled her eyes, suspecting that the media was hyping this new disease up into something that it really wasn't. The media loved to terrify people into thinking that every new disease was destined to wipe out the human species. A prediction then sprung into her mind that the pharmaceutical companies would soon come up with a magical vaccine, which would cause the masses to flock to their local Rite Aid's and CVS's and vomit $50 a piece for a protective shot. The prophecy wasn't farfetched; it had happened numerous times in the past. The memories of H1N1 rearing its ugly head soon followed. Even her children's elementary school now forced all attendees to be shot up with a chicken pox vaccine before the age of five.

The opening of the driver's side door brought Deputy Burke out of her trance. Her dirty-blonde partner sat down next to her and sighed heavily. "That guy was an ass," he vented, wiping sweat from his brow. "Trying to argue that he wasn't going 75 in a 55. Bullshit."

"Don't they all?" Katharine asked with a distant voice. The long-haired brunette whose hair was neatly pulled back in a matching clip turned her head away from the other officer and gazed out the window as he tossed his clipboard onto the dash in front of her.

"Well, yeah. But . . . you ok?" he wondered, noticing her vacuous stare.

"Fine," Katharine muttered. "Just have a lot on my mind."

"We're all worried about Rick." Jason was clearly trying to sound comforting but failing miserably. "He's going to pull through."

"It's not just that," Katharine sighed. "I mean, of course I am worried about Rick. He's been my friend since academy. I've just been under a lot of stress lately."

"What's wrong, Kat?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

At that moment, Katharine's cell phone chimed and she yanked the device from her back pocket. An irritated huff was her only response to a text message she had received from Shane Walsh.

'_Hey u, what u up 2?'_ it read.

Katharine deleted the message and replaced the phone as her partner radioed his call clearance into dispatch. She had nothing to say to Shane. All of her angry thoughts had manifested into rancorous words the evening before Shane had been involved in the shootout with Rick. Despite meaning those words at the time and experiencing a flash of disappointment that Rick had taken the bullet instead of Shane, she was beginning to wonder if she still meant any of it. So, due to her current state of confusion, she decided to treat the verbal wounds she had inflicted upon Shane with silence.

After the old truck that they had pulled over finally drove off, both the car's and the portable MARCS radios attached to the officers' belts crackled and a monotonous female voice came over the air to address specific officers. _"Units 880 and 1633,"_ it called. Once the individual deputies responded, the dispatcher continued. _"Signal 37A and signal 21, possibly also a signal 22. 11538 Trenton Road. Came in via 911; reporting that an unknown individual is attacking the resident in the back yard of this address. Suspect is described as a white male with brown hair, six feet tall, slender, wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt that is saturated in what may be blood. Unknown if suspect is armed. Caller states that he is staggering and appears ill. EMS is en route and will be on standby." _

Kat and Jason glanced at each other with smirks. "Damn drunks," Jason huffed.

"Glad we aren't being sent to it," Kat muttered.

_"Is the caller a witness or the victim?" _one of the responding officers asked over the radio.

_"The caller is a neighbour who is still on the line with me," _the 911 operator replied, and then paused as she was clearly speaking to the caller. _"He states that the suspect has just bitten the resident's neck and is attempting to wrestle her to the ground. Weapons still unknown." _

"Oh lord, now King County has vampires," Kat snickered.

"In broad daylight?"

"Well ya know, the alcohol protects them from the sun." The two deputies laughed.

They glanced at the computer screen of their in-car laptop that updated as the 911 operator entered call notes.

**W/M CHASING NEIGHBOUR IN BACK YARD  
><strong>**TRYING TO GRAB HER  
><strong>**UNKNOWN IF ARMED  
><strong>**BLUE JEANS, WHITE TSHIRT  
><strong>**STAGGERING  
><strong>**POSSIBLY SIG 9  
><strong>**CALLER NEVER SEEN HIM BEFORE  
><strong>**BROWN HAIR, 6 FT, THIN  
><strong>**CALLER SEES A LOT OF BLOOD ON SUSPECT  
><strong>**POSSIBLE STAB WOUND ON SIDE  
><strong>**APPEARS VERY PALE AND ILL  
><strong>**SUSPECT BIT HER NECK  
><strong>**TRYING TO FIGHT HIM OFF  
><strong>**SUSPECT HIGHLY COMBATIVE**

"Should we go to it?" Kat asked, clearing her voice so it could settle into a more serious tone.

"It's just one guy, they can handle him." Jason replied. "If they need us, they'll call for backup."

"For some reason, I have a bad feeling about this."

More notes popped up on the screen as the first responding officer called over the radio to indicate that he had arrived on scene.

** VICTIM BLEEDING HEAVILY FROM NECK  
><strong>**RAN FROM SUSPECT INTO HOUSE  
><strong>**SUSPECT STILL OUTSIDE **

"What the hell?" Kat asked with surprise.

"Just when you think you've seen it all."

"No shit. I've never . . ." she drifted off as her cell phone notified her of another incoming text message with the same sound as before. She opened it to find another text from Shane asking, _'U alive?'_

"Oh my God I wish he'd just leave me alone!" Kat hissed before shoving her phone back into her pocket.

"What does he want?" Jason asked, knowing exactly who the text was from due to Kat's unique notification sound system.

"To get back together," she irately assumed. "He's so fucking annoying! What part of me breaking up with him doesn't he understand? The separation is killing him."

"He just saw you at roll call an hour and forty minutes ago."

"Oh I know, but that's too long for him."

"He was staring at you the whole time too. I think the sergeant noticed."

"I felt his laser eyes on the back of my head. Luckily my head didn't explode. Maybe that's where this damn headache came from."

Before Jason could produce a reaction to her sarcasm, Katharine's phone erupted with the muffled noise of Shane's ringtone. The sound became clear as she pulled it from her pocket and instructed the phone to ignore his call.

"Damn, he's blowing you up!" Jason chortled.

"I am so glad that you're my partner at work. I would be on suicide watch right now if I had to spend my shift in a patrol car with him." Her continuing sarcasm was evident through her clear irritation.

"So would I, probably. I don't know how Rick puts up with him. When did you guys break up?" Jason asked, keeping his green eyes focused on the road.

"Day before yesterday," Kat replied flatly. "I just couldn't take his clinginess anymore. He was getting way too possessive."

"Don't blame ya there."

The phone rang again a few minutes later, summoning an enraged expression to the deputy's face.

"Let me answer it," Jason commanded, holding his hand out.

"Umm, okay." She placed the vibrating electronic device into Jason's hand; he opened the phone and held it up to his ear.

"Hello?"

_"Hey man, can I talk to Kat?"_ Shane asked from the other end.

"No, she died." Jason said matter-of-factly before closing the phone. Kat burst out laughing.

"That was good," she chuckled. But the amusement was short lived as the phone immediately rang again. Kat set the phone to silent and placed it in one of the cruiser's cup holders. "See what I deal with?"

"Would you like to drive? It'll get your mind off of it."

"Sure."

After taking the wheel, Deputy Burke spun the marked Ford around and headed south. She sped up as if in a hurry.

"Where are we going?"

"My friend Lynn hasn't moved her car from its spot in like three days," Kat replied, keeping her brown eyes on the road. "It's not like her. She and her husband are always on the go. She's a nurse at the hospital and is always on-call. Mike's a full-time graduate student. It's got me concerned, especially since she hasn't replied to any of my phone calls or texts lately. We had plans to hang out this week. And there's been this red Jeep over there these past few days too that I've never seen before."

"You want to do a house check?" Jason asked. "You think something happened?"

"Yes to the house check. I don't know what's going on. I don't want to get myself all paranoid and jump to conclusions until I check it out."

"Fine with me."

Twelve minutes later, the two deputies arrived at a two story, faded red duplex that was in the process of getting a new roof. Kat guided the police car carefully onto the long, meandering stone driveway that connected the property to the road and viewed the condition of the home. Halfway up, the driveway split to lead to the individual sides of the duplex. She followed the path leading to the west side of the house, where the vehicles she had mentioned sat silently.

"Lawn hasn't been mowed," she observed. In some areas the grass was pushed into lighter patterns where the roofers had driven their vehicles through the yard earlier in the day. One of the company pickup trucks was parked on the other side of the duplex, awaiting the return of its owners who had all gone home to retire for the day. Beside it sat a rusty blue dumpster that was beginning to overflow with broken materials from the tear-off job.

"That Jeep has a flat tire," Jason noticed as they approached three vehicles which were parked neatly in the shade of a large willow tree. To the left of the ancient Jeep and facing the other direction were two brand new Toyotas—a white Solara and a grey Avalon. "Must've been sitting there awhile."

"Three days," Kat reminded him. "The Jeep's soft top was off when I first noticed it. It wasn't closed back up before the rain last night. You'd think the person would want to protect the interior from the rain."

They parked alongside the rusty old Jeep and stepped out, leaving the car running so its air conditioner could preserve the chill behind the wheel. "302 to headquarters," Jason called into his radio. When the dispatcher responded, he continued, "Myself and 238 will be out at 741 Highland Road, Apartment B on a signal 104."

Kat reached inside the Jeep and pressed her fingers tightly into one of its cloth seats, which oozed rainwater then reabsorbed it like a sponge after she released her grip. "Shade's keeping it from drying out in here. It's starting to smell."

"The Toyotas look all right," Jason called as he walked over from the cars. He came alongside his partner and looked inside the Jeep as well while Kat began to inspect the flat tire. "The Avalon is unlocked. This guy didn't even . . . "

His words were cut short when the sudden shriek of shattering glass echoed from somewhere behind the house. The startled deputies instinctively jolted their heads in the direction of the sound and ducked behind the Jeep, listening. The break's sound was forceful and deep, indicating that it had been produced by a very large and thick piece of glass being deliberately destroyed.

"It came from over there," Jason whispered, cocking his head and averting his eyes towards the Jeep itself, indicating that he meant from the other side of it.

"They have a sliding glass door back there," Katharine explained. "It sounded like it could have been that or their kitchen window breaking." She peered out from around the front bumper but saw nothing. She listened more but everything was silent.

"Something's wrong," Jason said, keeping his voice low. "I have a bad feeling about this." He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and noticed the same fearful look in his partner's eyes that he had no doubt was also in his.

"No shit. The birds have silenced," Kat observed, swallowing hard. "That's never a good sign." Both cops began to wonder just what was causing their animal instincts to flare up so strongly. Years of working for the sheriff's department had toughened their skin to the point that few things frightened, bothered, or astonished the officers anymore. Even the 911 calls where the problem was undetermined didn't faze them anymore. Yet whatever was on the other side of that house was managing to throw their fight or flight instincts into overdrive.

"Turn your radio down before it alerts them to our presence," Jason instructed quietly. They both lowered the volumes of their radios just to the point that they could still hear the traffic being broadcast between officers and dispatchers.

Just as the deputies were about to plan their approach, they were distracted by a soft shuffling sound and the gurgle of heavy, laboured breathing. It came from behind the house and as they listened, they could tell that something or someone was moving over the shattered glass, crushing it beneath their feet with muffled crackling noises. The two cops slowly peered over the hood of the Jeep and watched as a tall, redheaded male dressed in an orange university t-shirt and soiled plaid boxer shorts staggered over the broken glass and into his back yard, away from them, wearing only one untied sneaker and a loosened sock on the other foot. Though they could only see the back of the man, they could tell that his skin had adopted a hue far greyer than his natural fair skin colour. His hair was a greasy mess, and it was easy to conclude that the man had defecated due to the dark brown stain on his boxers.

"That's Mike Sommers," Kat whispered rapidly as she turned to Jason with wide brown eyes. "What the hell happened to him?"

"I'll go talk to him," Jason replied as he stood up. "Get on the radio and request EMS."

"Okay." Katharine sat back against the police car and began fiddling with the cord to her radio's speaker, which had become tangled. Just as she was about to cue up and speak, a frenzied wave of chatter erupted over the radio, originating from the scene where the drunken vampire man had chosen his latest victim. Through two panicked deputies attempting to speak over one another, Kat was able to conclude that an officer was down with some kind of injury that had been inflicted by the vampire man and that the shift sergeant was en route to the scene to assist.

"Sir!" Jason called sternly. He began walking in the direction of the redheaded man, who was about seventy feet away. "Hey! Sir!"

Responding to the officer's shout, the wobbly Mike Sommers ceased his drunken stagger and leaned back on his heels. His head began to flop about at unnatural angles as if his neck muscles had regressed to the strength of a newborn baby's. As Jason cautiously approached, Mike's ears finally focused on the direction that the cop's footsteps and voice were coming from. He leisurely spun to face him, almost falling over as his right foot nearly tripped over the left. The image that Jason was faced with stopped him dead in his tracks.

What was once a freckled face with green eyes was now a bloated mixture of purples and blacks surrounding two frosted blind orbs that were twitching in an effort to focus. The bloated bruise continued down the entire front of the man's body, visible beneath his clothes as blood and other excrements began to seep through. Partially hidden beneath Mike's left sleeve was what appeared to be a bite wound of some sort with a significant amount of bicep missing. A few shards of glass were embedded in the man's swollen knuckles and arms where unnaturally thick blood was beginning to ooze. The same dark goo glistened around the zombie's mouth as the caked, dried blood from his last meal was hydrated by the fresh flow of rotting slobber. As the corpse stood there studying him, the wind was kind enough to give Jason a whiff of Mike Sommers' decomposing stench and motivate his frozen mouth and body to move.

Just as Jason felt the urge to vomit, the zombified Mike began to stagger towards him, struggling to keep his balance. Jason instinctively backed up and raised his hand in front of him. "Sir! Stop! Stay where you are!" he called, voice shaking with terror. But Mike didn't comprehend the command and instead kept wobbling quickly towards him. As he approached, Jason heard his laboured gurgling advance to a strained animalistic growl that rattled through his salivating mouth, sending beads of drool spraying in front of him.

"P-put your hands up!" Jason stuttered. "Mr. Sommers, d-don't move!" But the zombie just kept coming and, whether through panic or impulse, Jason's hand fell over his taser gun and yanked it from its holster. "Don't move, or I'll tase you!" he shouted desperately, raising the defensive weapon to eye level. The dead man was mere feet away when Jason felt his fingers engage the electrified prongs. As if in slow motion, Mike Sommers fell backwards onto the ground as the taser's coiling strings of metal clamped into his chest like a bloodthirsty leech and zapped him. The zombie curled into a fetal position and convulsed violently against the attack. The taser's clicking hiss echoed over the flatlands and was soon replaced by the sound of Kat's feet running up behind him.

"What's going on?" she demanded just as the disease-ridden human's movements ceased.

"He came at me!" Jason huffed defensively. "Didn't you see him?"

Kat's eyes shifted to the fallen zombie whose back was once again turned to them. Jason maintained the taser gun's position in front of him and guardedly approached Mike, ready to shock him again should he stand up. He noticed that both of the taser's probes had embedded into Mike's bloodied shirt and bruised skin, where they maintained a firm grip beneath the zombie's arms.

"Mike?" Kat called softly as she approached. She felt a tug of sorrow inside when her electrocuted friend didn't respond, but it was quickly drowned out by disbelief upon seeing the horrifying levels of necrosis up-close. She cautiously knelt behind the zombie, who was still curled up into a motionless fetal position and reached her hand towards him to check for a pulse.

"Don't touch him!" Jason hissed. "You don't know what he has."

Kat pulled her hand away but continued to lean over Mike's body, checking for any visible signs of life. "He's not breathing. Get me a mask, I need to do CPR." Jason could hear the sadness in her voice.

"I don't have one in my car. Let EMS check for vitals when they get here. They will have a better idea about what's wrong with him. It's not a good idea for us to touch him. We don't know if he's contagious or not."

"They're coming from Atlanta!" Kat snapped angrily. "That's a good twenty or so minutes away! It's our duty, Deputy. He's going to die!"

"I think he already is dead, Kat."

"You killed him! Mike was my friend, and you killed him!"

Before Jason could counter the accusation, Mike Sommers gasped in a gurgling breath of air and began to push himself up with his swollen, black-and-blue arm. The two cops froze as he struggled to get up on his feet and maintain balance like a newborn gazelle. He hobbled around and glared blindly at them, letting out an agitated, moaning snarl that rumbled up into his throat over mucous membranes that were trying to settle with rigor mortis. His movements kicked up a fresh wave of decomposing stench, which was sucked up into the deputies' nostrils as they slowly backed away from the undead redhead.

Deputy Crandall fired the taser gun again as Katharine distanced herself several steps behind him. Mike stumbled to the side but managed to remain standing as his muscles were forced to contract again. He balanced anew just as the five second stun expired then began stomping towards them in a provoked, hungry rage. Jason fired a third time then dropped the weapon as the zombie came too close for his comfort. He backed up and yelped as he tripped awkwardly over the bumper and hood of Mike's white Solara, then face-planted against the pavement. He whipped around and looked up to see the drooling zombie leaning over him, his teeth bloody and bared. He braced himself to wrestle the creature off, but just as Mike began clawing at his uniform, his head was thrown backwards as a deep bang echoed from the barrel of Kat's revolver. The force of the .38 ripping through Mike's skull yanked his arms away from the grounded police officer, who watched his opponent's corpse slam into the pavement with a heavy, nauseating thud as globs of brain matter rained several metres over the pavement.

"Are you all right?" Katharine asked. She holstered her weapon and helped her partner stand up.

"Yeah," Jason breathed. "He . . ."

"What the fuck is going on out here?" A voice called from the far end of the house. The deputies turned to see a young man stepping out onto his front porch from the other end of the duplex.

"Go back into your house, Sir," Jason ordered.

"But what the fuck is going on? I heard a gunshot!" the man demanded, straining his neck to get a look around the cars.

"Sir, we will be over to speak with you shortly," Jason shouted. "For your own safety, I need you to go inside and lock your doors."

The brown-haired man nodded and went back inside. Jason watched until he heard the front door's deadbolt click and the rickety screen door of Apartment A hiss shut completely.

"Oh my God," Kat called softly. "I killed him."

Jason walked over to his partner, who was kneeling beside her now permanently deceased friend. One of her hands was covering her mouth as she examined what she had done. Jason knelt beside her and watched as a pool of black blood and brain matter spread beneath Mike's shattered skull. His unseeing eyes stared up into the sky blankly, clouded with disease and blindness.

"I'm so sorry," Jason said, placing a hand on his partner's shoulder. "You did what you had to do, Kat. He was out of his mind."

"He was sick!" Kat snapped. "I just killed a man who was sick! You don't kill people because they're sick. Mike would never hurt anyone. He didn't mean to do this!"

"Kat, I know he didn't." Jason's comforting voice did little to settle his fellow officer. "Sometimes illnesses make people do things that they don't want to do."

"That doesn't make it okay to kill them! I just killed him! I just killed my friend!"

"He was too far gone, Kat. Look at him. He was suffering. He was going to kill me. You did the right thing by protecting me. Thank you."

Kat wiped a solitary tear that was trickling from her eye. "Get me a pair of gloves."

"Okay." Jason stood and walked to his patrol car. He retrieved two pairs of rubber gloves from his trunk, returned, and handed a pair to Kat.

"Where is that ambulance?" Kat asked forlornly, almost to nobody in particular as she slipped her hands into the gloves.

Jason suddenly remembered his radio and spoke into it, realising he should have done it several minutes ago. "302 to headquarters," he called sternly, allowing his voice to bare a minor hint of stress. When the dispatcher acknowledged him, he continued. "Shots fired. Requesting backup. One of the residents came out of the house and attempted to attack us. He was extremely ill. I repeat, shots fired and we have a man down and deceased."

_"Clear,"_ the dispatcher replied with a verbal indication of surprise. _"302, are you or 238 injured?"_

"No, but we have not yet been inside the house," Jason answered.

_"1835," _the dispatcher called to the shift's sergeant. When the superior acknowledged the request, she continued. _"I need you to clear from Trenton Road. Signal 89 for 302 and 238 at 741 Highland Road, Apartment B."_

_ "2347 to headquarters," _another male voice spoke into the radio before 1835 could confirm the traffic. Kat froze as Shane Walsh's voice resonated from her earpiece. _"I can take that for the sergeant. I'm about two miles out from Highland."_

_ "Clear," _the dispatcher said simply. _"1835, you can disregard."_

"What's the status of that ambulance?" Jason asked the dispatcher. He heard the sound of a siren firing up in the distance.

_"Atlanta EMS is sending a squad out to your location. They advised that they are backed up with calls but will be out as soon as possible. I have instructed them to stage. All of MedCorp and King County EMS squads are out on runs."_

"Clear." Jason then turned back to Kat. "That's odd. Must be that disease that's going around."

Kat acted as if she didn't even hear him.

"Shane's coming."

Her ears perked up and she glared. "Just what I need." She found it a little too convenient that Shane just happened to be two miles away from them in a county so vast.

Deputy Crandall knelt beside her again. "What happened to him? I've never seen anything like this before. It's like he's got gangrene all over his body."

"It's like he was already dead." Katharine was staring at the corpse in front of her with a look of absolute horror and disbelief spread over her face.

"Smells like he's already decomposing." Jason stuffed his nose into the inside of his elbow and suppressed the urge to vomit.

"Look at him. He looks necrotic," Katharine observed with a trembling, sad voice. "This bruise on his front side and face . . . This is what you see when blood pools after the heart stops."

"That's impossible. He would've had to go through livor mortis for that to happen."

"I know."

The wailing siren drew nearer and abruptly ceased as Shane Walsh pulled into the driveway of the duplex. He sped up to his co-workers and radioed his arrival in to dispatch. Jason rose and went to meet him.

"You guys ok?" Shane asked as he emerged from the car. It was odd seeing the empty seat beside him that was usually occupied by Rick Grimes.

"Yeah," Jason replied. "We have it under control for the moment. We don't know what's inside but we know it isn't going to be pretty." He lowered his voice so Katharine couldn't hear. "I assume we're going to find the wife dead inside."

Shane nodded. "Was it you that fired?"

"No, it was Kat."

Shane stepped around Jason and looked over at Katharine with an expression of concern. "You okay, Kat?"

"Yeah," she mumbled. She stood up and went to the open trunk of her patrol car.

"Tried to call ya earlier," Shane snickered, thinking he could lighten the mood. "Your buddy Jay here told me you was dead!"

"I am," Kat snapped as she pulled a blanket from the trunk.

"Really? I didn't know dead people walked 'n talked 'n shot people!"

"Well then I'm not your typical dead person, am I, asshole?"

"Whoa, girl, no need for insults."

"I just shot my friend!" The piercing look Kat directed at Shane almost gave him chills. "And you have the audacity to come out here and joke around with me?"

"You're right," Shane sighed, half-heartedly meaning it. "Sorry."

Kat was once again stooping by the body of Mike Sommers when Shane and Jason came up to her.

"I'm so sorry Mike," Kat was saying. "I didn't want to do this." She sniffled a bit, but held back her tears. Jason and Shane joined her on the other side of the body and removed their hats while Kat addressed her fallen friend. "I don't know what happened to you, but I'm sorry you had to go like this. You didn't deserve this. You were a good friend and I know you didn't mean to attack Deputy Crandall. I'm sure he isn't mad at you." She looked up at Jason for input.

"I'm not mad," Jason said softly. "He was sick. I can't blame him."

Katharine nodded her thanks. She then pressed her gloved hands gently against Mike's eyelids and rubbed them over his staring eyes, then carefully pushed his chin up until she heard his teeth click together. She held her hands in place for several moments to ensure that his eyes and mouth would remain closed and looked up at the sky. "Father, in Your wisdom You have called Your servant, Mike Sommers, out of this world. Release him from the bonds of sin, and welcome him into Your Presence, so that he may enjoy eternal light and peace and be raised up in glory with all Your saints. Amen."

"Amen," Jason echoed. Shane simply gaped stupidly at the horrifying sight in front of him, his mouth moving but unable to vocalise the hundreds of questions that were darting around in his mind. The look of incredulity spread across his face was apparent.

"Mike, I'm sorry again," Kat whined, still forcing her tears back. "Please forgive me. May you rest in peace now that your suffering has ended." With her gloved thumb, she gently motioned an invisible cross over Mike's forehead before ending her eulogy.

"Rest in peace, Mr. Sommers," Jason said respectfully.

Deputy Burke then opened the blanket and covered her friend's body, tucking it around him so it wouldn't blow away. She stood, wiped her contaminated gloves on a corner of the blanket, and took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare herself for whatever still waited inside Mike's house.

"Hey," Shane said softly. He walked up to Kat and wrapped his muscular arms around her, pulling her close. "I'm sorry. It's going to be okay."

Kat tensed against the hug but accepted it. The urge to cry suddenly welled up in her throat with a newfound strength and she swallowed hard several times in an attempt to suppress it. Shane ran his open hands up and down her back for a few minutes to console her. Eventually, she relaxed against Shane's embrace and rested her pounding head against his chest, taking comfort from the sound of his beating heart that had put her to sleep countless nights over the past few years. For a brief moment she almost wished she were once again at home with him, cuddling with him on her couch while they watched stand-ups on Comedy Central into the late hours of the night. But she refused to admit that after only two days she was already missing him. She planned to commit the contempt she felt for Shane, though subconsciously her heart and mind knew that in time the sinister feelings would eventually dissipate.

"I'll be okay," Kat assured confidently.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, we need to go check on Lynn. She's Mike's wife."

"Do you want Jason and me to do it?"

"No, I'll go with you. I'll be okay. Promise." Kat pulled away from her ex-boyfriend's embrace and rubbed the moisture from her eyes. "Let's go around the back and check out that broken glass."

Jason pointed to the far side of the house, relieved that the brief mushy moment was over. "I'm going to walk around the far side and make sure everything's clear from the long way. You two approach from this end so each side of the door is covered."

Shane and Kat both nodded.

"Hey," Shane whispered once Deputy Crandall was out of earshot. A sudden feeling of uncertainty crept through him as he instinctively sensed the danger that the cops were about to come face-to-face with.

Kat glared at him as she walked toward her assigned post. "What?"

"I still love you," Shane said. He stopped her right as she was about to turn the corner around the house and looked her directly in the eyes, softening his expression so she could see past his tough exterior and into the windows of his soul. "'N I want you to know I'm here for you. I know this hurts. But I'm here, and I always will be. Before we go in there, I want you to know that."

Before Katharine even had a chance to lash out a verbal spite or physically resist, Shane cupped her face in his hands and pulled her into a gentle yet zealous kiss, fearful that it would be the last one they would ever share.

* * *

><p>So, what do you guys think so far? Kind of a slow start, I know, but it was necessary to get the ball rolling. This chapter was originally double the length but I cut it in half just to be evil! I currently have six chapters (including the other half of this, which will be Chapter 2) of this story written already, with a seventh in progress, and I will continue to writeupdate **IF** I get reviews. SO REVIEW IF YOU WANT MORE! Please? :)

Readers, do you have any suggestions, ideas, comments, or critiques? Pairings you'd like to see? Characters you would like to have zombified or just flat out eaten alive? Suggest away since eventually this story is going to completely spin off in its own direction from the TV show! Let me know in your reviews how graphic you want stuff to get later on and any suggestions or ideas you may have. I would love to hear them. Also, I am an author who has been away from the world of writing since 2008. I am writing this story as practice to get myself back in the groove, so I ask that you please CRITIQUE my writing if possible. Thank you!

_**My Zombie Valentine**_ copyright © **28 March 2012** by _**Darkinyron**_

_**The Walking Dead **_copyright © _**Robert Kirkman**_


	2. Revelation

**MY ZOMBIE VALENTINE  
><strong>**By: Darkinyron**

Hey readers, thank you so much for the reviews! :) It means so much to me to hear from you! To those who have subscribed to this story but haven't commented, _please_ review. It makes me happy to see that so many people have subscribed but I would really love to hear what you guys think. Reviews are what inspire and motivate us writers, so I'd really appreciate your feedback!

**WARNING: **Zombies have a severe lack of table manners when they get the munchies. So does Shane . . . but he doesn't do that kind of eating. ;)

Considering you are all fans of _The Walking Dead_, I doubt such descriptive things bother you.

* * *

><p><strong>~ CHAPTER 2 ~<strong>

**REVELATION**

THE IDEA OF ripping into a living creature's flesh with one's own teeth and nails, severing their thick connective tissues and feasting on their bleeding organs before their excruciating cries had the opportunity to cease was anything but appetising to the three sheriff's deputies as they made their way into Mike and Lynn Sommers' house, guns drawn and ready for battle. The zombies however, disagreed completely. Because that was the grotesque crime scene that the officers were faced with as they stepped over the littered shards of the sliding glass door and into the kitchen.

Staring up at the officers from the blood-saturated tile floor was the brainless body of Mike's mother, her deathly white face contorted and frozen into a permanent, silent scream. What was once her brain was now a soupy puddle of grey and black splat that reeked of the early stages of putrefaction. The silver Smith and Wesson revolver that she had obviously used to end her own suffering was still gripped in her right hand, which was stiff and sprayed with crusty brownish-red spatter. Slumped over her mutilated, mostly gutted abdomen was the heavily decayed corpse of one of the roofers whose company truck was parked outside. The colours that his hair and skin had been in life were ambiguous to the officers. A black t-shirt bearing the roofing company's logo clung to heavily decomposed skin that had taken on a deep greyish-blue tint. Half of his skull had gone missing, undoubtedly the result of a bullet that Mike's mother had sent through it prior to committing suicide. Though why she had waited to pull the trigger until her guts had been rearranged and eaten was a mystery. Trailing out of the roofer's clamped mouth was a segment of the woman's partially chewed small intestine, which looped around unnaturally over the tile and her skinless torso and clung to its original placement by a mere thread of desecrated tissue. Flies were beginning a feeding frenzy while the three deputies silently excused themselves in unison to vomit their own half-digested lunches into the grass.

Deputy Jason Crandall was once again on the radio, gagging his report of a Signal 56 in to dispatch. Once he had confirmation that detectives had been called for a crime scene investigation, he lead his co-workers back inside.

Carefully, the three cops stepped over pools of blood and flesh as they made their way deeper into the house. Guns drawn, they hoped to themselves that they wouldn't have to use them anymore. In the midst of clearing rooms, Deputy Shane Walsh came upon the scattered skeleton of the family chihuahua. He turned the bathroom light on and observed fresh impressions where someone's teeth had been picking meat off of the bones as if they were chicken wings. Even the poor dog's eyes had been plucked from its skull, which was in the sink and still moist from its own blood. Peering through the void eye sockets and into the cranium, Shane observed scratch marks, indicating that the zombie had eaten the dog's brain as dessert by scooping it into his mouth with his fingernails. Following a dry heave, Shane concluded that this had probably been Mike Sommers' final meal and made the decision not to tell his ex-girlfriend about his gruesome discovery until later.

_These were Kat's friends?_ Shane thought to himself as he found part of the animal's lung and pulmonary artery next to the toilet. _Eat your heart out, Hannibal._

"Lynn?" Deputy Katharine Burke called shakily. "Lynn, are you in here?"

There was no response. She crept into the family's living room and sighed sadly as her eyes fell upon the motionless form of Lynn Sommers, who was sprawled on the couch still dressed in scrubs, covered up with a bloodied navy blue afghan. Grey circles surrounded her eyes, giving her once round face a skeletal facade. An open Bible was resting on the nurse's lap and a pink highlighter was still loosely gripped in her hand. Her sweaty head had drooped to one side, mouth open and drooling as if she had simply dozed off while reading.

"Lynn?" Kat asked weakly, approaching cautiously. Her hands were shaking nervously as she held her revolver in front of her, sickened by the idea that she may have to shoot another ailing friend. She heard Shane and Jason enter the room behind her as they finished their search of the first floor.

All three police officers froze as the flaccid neck of Lynn Sommers lifted her head and held it up. The chubby woman opened her eyes and squinted at them, then began blinking rapidly as a clear wave of fear pervaded her when she realised through severe nearsightedness that three figures stood before her.

"Lynn!" Kat yipped, lurching forward to assist her sick friend.

"No!" the infected woman panicked. "N-no! Get away from me!" She raised herself onto her elbows and began a terrified attempt at backing up deeper into the squishy couch.

With a swift swipe of her arm, Katharine cleared piled up papers, medicine bottles, and other typical junk from the wooden coffee table that was next to the couch. She sat down and grabbed at Lynn's arms, which were flailing about in a warding off motion.

"G-go away! I've had enough!" Lynn was screaming. "S-stop it! Stop it!"

"Lynn, Lynn!" Kat yelled as she secured her hands around each of Lynn's wrists. "It's me, Kat!"

Lynn's face cringed as if in sudden pain, causing the woman to recoil and squeeze her eyelids shut. "No! No! Don't eat me!"

"Lynn, calm down!" Kat ordered, lowering her voice to a more threatening tone. "I'm not going to hurt you!"

Beside the coffee table, Jason found a pair of glasses and placed them over Lynn's nose and ears once the opportunity presented itself between her terrified thrashes.

"Ma'am, we're not going to harm you. We're police officers and we're here to help you," Jason said in a stern yet comforting voice.

Lynn opened her eyes and looked up at Kat, who was still holding onto her wrists. She winced painfully a few more times, shutting her eyes and pulling her scrunched up face away as if she were trying to avoid getting smacked.

"P-please don't eat me," Lynn whined.

"Lynn, I'm not going to hurt you!" Kat was horrified to learn that her friend had probably witnessed the cannibalistic crime first hand but wasn't surprised at her hysterical, shocked overreaction. She knew that the psychological impact that the events had inflicted upon Lynn's mind were devastating, undeserved, and potentially debilitating. "It's me! You're safe now, I promise!"

Relaxation slowly began to creep into Lynn's system once she finally got a good look at the policemen standing before her. Her face continued to recoil as if it were instinctively protecting her eyes from an incoming object that was bound to hit her every few seconds as bullets of sweat slid down over her fevering, clammy skin. Her breath was racing and she let out a terrorised gasp whenever the reflexes occurred.

"Kat?" Lynn finally asked through raspy breaths. Her glasses allowed her a better look despite the effects of her fever's visual contortions. "Is t-that you?"

"Yes, it's me. I'm here with Deputies Crandall and Walsh and we're trying to help you." Kat pointed to Jason and Shane as she introduced them. "What happened to you?"

"You . . . Y-you're alive, right?" Lynn gasped as she studied both men. A sudden coughing fit overwhelmed the dying woman, sending spurts of blood out of her mouth.

"Shane, get her some water," Kat barked over her shoulder. She turned back to Lynn as the black haired cop trotted into the kitchen and Lynn's coughs settled. "Of course we're alive."

"Whatever it is, she has it," Jason called from the corner of the couch. He looked at Katharine, lips curled in disgust, and pointed to a mop bucket that was half-filled with bloodied, chunky vomit.

"Lynn, what happened?" Kat asked.

"W-walk . . . er," Lynn choked.

"What?"

"W-w-walk . . . k-k-err."

"Walker?" Jason asked. "A man named Walker?"

Lynn shook her head with frustration as Shane returned with a tall beer mug filled with ice water and handed it to her. He took a seat on the coffee table beside Kat and watched as the quivering nurse lifted the huge glass up to her mouth and began chugging the filtered liquid in huge gulps as if she had been deprived of its essential nourishment for weeks. Once she had emptied it, she leaned forward and shoved the glass against Shane's chest. "More," she rasped.

Something about the intake of water seemed to bring Lynn back to a period of lucidity. A few minutes after she had swallowed two full glasses, she finally began to calm down, think clearly, and make sense of things as she began working on a third.

"Is Mike at p-peace?" Lynn asked softly, looking to Kat with hopeful eyes.

"Umm," Kat looked down at the gun that she had placed in her lap and began wringing her hands as if she were toying with a wad of Play-Doh. "Yes . . . Yes, Mike is at peace." She pressed her lips together and nodded, unsure of how else to tell her friend that she had just blown her husband's head off.

"Y-you g-get him . . . in the h-head?" Lynn stuttered the question as if she were simply asking about the weather.

The three cops exchanged fleeting, creeped out glances.

"Gotta hit 'em . . . the brain," Lynn continued. The losing battle that Lynn was fighting against her fever was evident by her chattering teeth. "Gotta . . . des-s-s-troy the . . . brain."

Another flinching scowl followed, and Lynn hissed in agony.

"W-w-walkerrr."

"Lynn, what happened to you? I seriously need to know what happened," Kat demanded. She reached for Lynn's blanket and began to lift a corner to peer at whatever wound had created the wet blood stain that it was saturated with.

"Don't!" Lynn hissed before flinching again. "Arrgh!"

"What is it?"

"N-nothing," Lynn snarled as she relaxed. "Fever. Hallucinating . . . walk-kerrs."

"Ma'am you have to let us look so we can advise EMS," Shane explained. But Lynn pulled away from them both and was adamant about not letting the cops look under the blanket.

"Dead," Lynn said flatly. "S-soon, I'll be . . . d-dead. Look when . . . I'm . . . d-d-dead."

"No, don't talk that way," Kat soothed. "An ambulance is coming; we're going to get you help."

"No!" Lynn snapped. Her nonstop shivering exacerbated her aggravation. "You're n-not listen-n-ning!"

Kat huffed. "Okay, tell us. What happened to you? We're listening."

"The hospital," Lynn began. "My p-p-patient . . . b-b-bit . . . . m-me. Infect-t-t-ed." She pointed to the bloodied area of her afghan.

"He bit you?" Jason confirmed. He took his miniature steno pad and a pen out of his pocket and began jotting down her testimony.

Lynn nodded and took another sip of water before continuing. "Dizz . . . diseeeease. B-b-bites . . . spread the . . . diseeease."

"What is this disease?" Shane asked. "Is it rabies?"

"I d-d-d-don't . . . know," Lynn stammered, shivering dramatically. "New v-v-v-virusss. Watch the n-newss and you'll s-s-seee. Transmitted th-th-through b-bites. Feverrr, n-nausea, d-dellllirrrium, achesss, vomit-t-ing, hallu-c-c-cinations . . . Fatal. Always . . . f-f-fatal." Lynn took several deep breaths before continuing. "Fever b-b-burns b-brain up. K-k-killssss h-host. B-b-but then, w-w-walker . . . you b-b-become a w-w-walker."

At that moment Lynn burst into another coughing fit which she directed into a cushion. She heaved and gagged when her vibrating lungs and diaphragm tugged at her stomach, but only a thin trail of greenish-grey bile escaped despite all of the water that she had just consumed. Kat and Shane recognised the trail of bile and its abnormal colour as a sign that Lynn's internal organs were beginning to shut down.

After several more gulps of fresh water, Lynn handed the vacant glass to Shane for another refill. Her voice began to clear and steady once the mucus had been released.

"The disease," Lynn started anew, clearing her throat a few times. "It is t-t-transmitted when the h-host . . . b-b-bites or scratch-esss a healthy ind-d-dividual, like in rabies. B-b-but it's not r-rabies. We d-don't know what it is, yet. Once you g-get bit, y-y-you will d-die within twenty-four hourrrs."

"Lynn you keep saying 'walker.' What does that mean?" Kat asked as Shane once again took a seat beside her.

"A-after you die, the d-d-disease brings you b-back." Lynn took another sip of water after Shane handed the refilled glass back. "But it's n-not you. You're still d-dead."

"What do you mean?"

"Z-z-zomb-b-bies," Lynn hissed, almost as if she were trying to emphasise the word by stuttering it. "W-w-walking . . . dead. Bitesssss . . . M-m-m-mike . . . He d-died . . . on the oth-th-ther side of this c-c-couch. W-w-walk-k-errr b-b-bit him too."

The three officers were now staring at the woman with their mouths hanging slightly open and eyes wide as if they had just witnessed her throw up a snapping alligator. The disbelief etched into their faces, as well as the chaotic questions that Lynn had no doubt were dancing through their minds, was understandable.

"Z-zom . . . bie."

"Lynn, zombies aren't . . ." Kat began.

"Destroy the brain!" Lynn suddenly snapped as a surge of energy flowed through her. "You must destroy the brain, it is the only w-way to k-kill them!"

"But . . ."

"Once infected, you die! _You_ die. But your b-body comes back. B-but not y-y-you. V-v-virus does something, f-fucks you up, 'n you come b-b-back to life, kind of. Walkers, they rot. What's l-l-left of you, is a rotting, h-hungry, m-m-mind-lesss animal. This disease, it's a p-plague! It w-will killll us . . . allll."

"We're gonna get you to a hospital, Ma'am," Jason assured her. He was trying hard to convince himself that the woman was speaking out of temporary insanity. "The ambulance is running late but it'll be here shortly. Hang on."

Lynn ignored the cop and picked up the Bible that was on her lap. She flipped the page to one of many that had been marked with colourful sticky notes, and then held the book up to Kat. "Here," she whispered, jabbing her finger against a passage that was outlined in bright pink. "Read."

"The Book of Zechariah," Kat observed as she accepted the Bible. She moved her eyes to the highlighted portion of the fourteenth chapter, passages twelve and thirteen. "And the Lord will send a plague on all the nations that fought against Jerusalem. Their people will become like walking corpses, their flesh rotting away. Their eyes will rot in their sockets, and their tongues will rot in their mouths." Kat paused to curl her lip up with distaste, though through all the horror she had just faced, she still doubted that this new pestilence was really going to progress to anything more than another SARS or H1N1 outbreak. "On that day they will be terrified, stricken by the Lord with great panic. They will fight their neighbours in hand to hand combat."

"Oh my God," Jason was saying as Lynn reached up and flipped to another bookmarked page.

"Revelations 11:11," Kat read. "But after three and a half days a breath of life from God entered them, and they stood on their feet, and terror struck those who saw them."

Another page was turned. "Ezekiel 37:10—So I prophesised as he commanded me, and breath entered them; they came to life and stood up on their feet, a vast army."

"There's more in here," Lynn stated as she extracted the Bible from Katharine's grip. "I know you d-don't believe in the end of the w-w-world, but this _is_ The Apocalypse."

"I'm sure researchers are working on a cure," Shane said.

"Pffft," Lynn snorted, rolling her eyes in their greyed, sunken sockets. "There isn't time for me."

"Don't say that . . ."

"You're Catholic. Your g-godfather's an exorcist," Lynn remembered, now grabbing Kat's wrist. She looked up to her with sad yet accepting eyes. "D-did he t-t-teach you the L-last Rites?"

Katharine fought the tears that were now trying to well up in her eyes. "He taught me about them, but a priest has to do it. I don't know the exact ritual."

"Bless me," Lynn demanded. She lifted her shaking hand and pointed to a bottle of holy water and that was among the pile of papers and objects that Kat has shoved onto the floor.

"Lynn you have to keep fighting," Kat insisted.

"My t-time has come, Kat," Lynn said with a nod. "I h-h-have accepted it. Give me my Last Rites, t-then p-p-put me out of my m-misery."

"Lynn, stop it," Kat retorted. "I can't do that, you're my friend."

Jason picked through the pile and found the holy water. He handed it to his partner who reluctantly accepted the bottle.

"Please, friend. Consecrate me."

Katharine sighed, but nodded. She uncapped the bottle and drizzled some of its contents onto her fingers, then drew a cross over Lynn's forehead. The fever that radiated through her gloves was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Placing her right hand on the nurse's burning head, she closed her eyes and began to pray aloud. "Father, please hear my prayer and come be with Your servant, Lynn Sommers in her final moments." She then opened her wet eyes and gazed at her friend, whose face was beginning to pale even more. "I commend you, my friend, to almighty God, and entrust you to your Creator. May you return to Him who formed you from the dust of the Earth. May the Virgin Mary, the angels, and all of the saints come to meet you, as you go forth from this life." She paused to take in a deep breath, attempting to ward off the emotions that wanted to bust out of her by manifesting themselves as tears. "May Jesus, who was crucified for you . . . grant you His mercy and His peace. May Jesus, who died for you, admit you . . . into His heavenly Kingdom. May the blood that He shed . . . be your salvation and May He forgive you for all your sins . . . and set you among those whom He has chosen. May you see your Redeemer face to face and enjoy the vision of God forever." Again, Kat drew a cross over Lynn's forehead with the holy water. "Amen."

"Amen," the others in the room repeated in unison.

"Thank you," Lynn whispered, smiling sadly.

Katharine wiped at her eyes with her arm, since her gloves were contaminated with the disease. She felt Shane move closer, almost against her, and put his hand on her back and rub gently, just as he had after her eulogy to Mike Sommers.

"Please, don't give up," Kat begged, though she knew that Lynn's whitening face meant that her heart was beginning to slow and ease pressure.

Lynn noticed how close Shane had moved to her friend and watched his movements as he rubbed her friend's back up and down. She coughed then flinched as another hallucination flashed before her eyes. Once the delusion that was causing the three cops to look zombified passed, she looked up at Katharine and grinned weakly. "You bitch," she chuckled jokingly. "In all these years, ya n-n-never did intr-troduce me t-to your boyfriend. He's a cute one."

Kat laughed and sighed at the same time. Her first thought was to point out that her and Shane had broken up, but given the circumstances, she quickly decided that it wasn't worth it.

The near-zombie then shifted her gaze to the blushing Shane and looked him directly in the eyes. "Y-you take care of my bestie Katharine, now, y-you understand?"

Shane opened his mouth, looking for words. Finding none, he sighed and simply nodded.

"Promissse me!" Lynn demanded with a hiss.

"Yeah," Shane finally spoke, nodding again. "I promise."

Kat glared at her ex-boyfriend, who put his unoccupied hand up in protest. Lynn saw Kat's distraction and took the opportunity to snatch at the loaded revolver that was being held between Kat's legs. Reflexively, the deputy seized the firearm just as her friend was pulling it away and yanked it back. The dying woman maintained her grip on the gun, surprising Kat with her persistent strength.

"Drop it!" Jason shouted. He was already crouching beside Kat with his weapon raised.

"Put it down!" Shane ordered. "Mrs. Sommers, you don't want to do this."

"Kill me," Lynn begged, ignoring the other officers' commands. "Please, Kat, put me d-down."

"Lynn, let go," Kat said slowly. Without realising it, she had slid her left pointer finger over the trigger during the hurried snatch. It was simply a product of her police education, something she had been trained and practiced so many times that it had become as instinctual as scratching an itch.

"Shoot me," Lynn plead. "P-please, put me out of my misery. I w-want you to do it. D-d-don't let me be-c-c-come a w-walker. Want . . . to be . . . w-w-with Mike."

"You're my friend," Kat whined. "I can't kill you. You're sick. You need medical help. Please, let go of my gun or we will have to restrain you. Please, Lynn, don't do this. Don't put me through this. I'm your friend."

"Then as my f-friend, do me this last f-favour."

"No, Lynn!" she gasped quietly as she felt her friend ease her thumb over her trigger finger.

"Ma'am, let it go!" Jason shouted deeply. Shane was beginning to slowly move his free hand to the gun in the hopes that he could pry the sick woman's hand away.

"Please!" Lynn snapped. "My t-time is now. I choose this."

"Suicide is a sin!" Kat softly exclaimed, hoping it would somehow convince Lynn to change her mind. She knew that any sudden jerks would result in the trigger being pulled.

"Jesus will f-forgive me," Lynn said with a brisk nod. "He'll unders-s-s-stand."

"You're not lucid," Kat tried again.

"I'm as lucid as it m-matters."

Somewhere in the distance, the wail of a siren became audible. The deputies could tell that it was approaching fast.

"See? The ambulance is coming," Kat urged with an encouraging bob of her head. "Let go of my gun, please. They'll help you."

"No," Lynn growled. She then lurched forward and sat up and faced Kat, careful to keep her thumb steady. She ignored the click of Jason's gun as he cocked it.

"Ma'am, sit down," Shane ordered. From under the blanket, he could see a mutilated portion of Lynn's leg that was already becoming necrotic. He reached out with the intent to restrain the nurse but froze when Lynn grabbed the barrel with her other hand and positioned it right between her eyes.

"Oh my God!" Kat practically screamed. Her hands were beginning to tremble with fear. She tried to ease her own finger off of the trigger, but Lynn's thumb was exerting too much pressure for her to safely do so without firing.

"Glad to s-s-see you have enough am-m-mo in this," Lynn said as she looked cross-eyed at the revolver. "M-my p-p-parents are locked . . . upstairs. Walk-k-kers."

"Lynn, don't make me do this!"

"Kat, have you ever s-s-seen _Shawshank Redemption_?" Lynn asked randomly. A twisted smirk was now plastered on her face.

The three deputies were thrown off by the question, as was noticeable by the looks of confusion that had crossed their anxious faces.

Kat searched desperately for words. Thinking it might ease the situation, she decided to simply answer. "Yes. Yes, you and I went to see it in the theatre when it first came out in the '90s, remember?"

Lynn chuckled. "Oh yeah, that's r-right." She paused for a few seconds, letting the memory waft through her mind. A peaceful smile spread across her face, confirming again to the officers that Lynn was ready and eager to pass on.

The siren was now reverberating loudly into the apartment, signalling that it was almost to the residence.

Lynn strained her voice just enough so that the officers could hear her clearly over the emergency vehicle's high-pitched shriek. "You r-remember Red? The g-guy played by Morgan Freeman?"

Kat nodded as a single drop escaped her eye and fled from its place of origin. She felt her face involuntarily contort as her vision clouded with tears.

"I want you g-guys to r-remember what he s-s-said," Lynn continued. She looked around and made eye contact with the officers, smiling genuinely at each one as she did so. "He said . . . 'Get busy living, or g-get busy dying.' I've made my d-dec-c-cision. I can only hope that yours will b-b-be the opposite."

"Lynn!"

"Goodbye, friend."

And with that, Lynn Sommers' pushed Kat's finger against the trigger.

* * *

><p>The monotonous beeping rhythm of his heart monitor was all that Rick Grimes had to keep him company as he waited for his mobility to return. Eyes closed, he listened to the mechanical overseer of his life and let himself drift off into a comatose daydream. He had no idea what day or time it was, but he felt like it had been forever since he had been admitted to the trauma unit. Worse, he felt like he was completely alone. Every so often a nurse would come in to check his vitals, change his bandage, and ask him a series of scripted questions to check for any signs of consciousness. Each time, he could only mentally scream his answers, wishing he had the powers of a clairvoyant to just telepathically respond. His wife, Lori Grimes, had come to check on him a few times since his operation, but he could tell that she was still pissed at him by her tone of voice. He also suspected that her own guilt at what she had said the previous morning was probably eating her alive, as well as her hidden worry.<p>

Rick's current state reminded him of how he would often experience sleep paralysis as a kid, where he would wake up, his entire body aside from his eyelids completely frozen. His mind would be fully alert but the slow-motion shadows of his dream would continue to play out in the room before him as a hypnagogic hallucination until his body caught up with his brain and realised it was time to sever its bonds with REM sleep. Despite the numerous times he had the experiences and the understanding he had acquired regarding his narcolepsy, they had never lost their element of terror.

Memories of some of the frightening occurrences played out in his head, distracting him from hearing the soft footsteps of someone entering the room. When a soft squeeze was exerted upon his open, relaxed hand, his brain yelped at his muscles, ordering them to jump with surprise. His body ignored its request as if it had somehow been deafened from what part of him remained cognisant. Even his eyelids, which would once in a while open and allow him the grace of sight, betrayed him now.

"Hey Rick," a soft female voice murmured. He heard a metal chair rumble against the linoleum floor as the voice's owner pulled it closer to the bed and took a seat beside him. The female's voice was quite familiar, but its unusually saddened, stressed out tone mixed with his drugged state forced him to think hard about whom it belonged to.

"Can you move your fingers, Rick?" the woman asked. He felt her clutch his hand again and begin to stroke his knuckles with her thumb in an effort to encourage his muscles to contract. Rick felt a surge of frustration when his body continued to disobey his commands to budge. The woman sighed heavily. She was obviously sharing his sense of frustration and disappointment.

"I thought you would've woken up by now," she said. "Been worried sick about ya." After several seconds of picking his brain, Rick finally recognised the voice of Katharine Burke.

_Why do you sound so down, Kat? _Rick wondered. He mentally pictured his thoughts zipping out of his head as shimmering text and entering Kat's ears. His attempts at telepathy with Lori and the nurses had been epic fails, but he saw no harm in trying with Kat. His fellow officer had on occasion talked to him about the disembodied voices she often heard in her house, which they both assumed belonged to the ghost of her husband. If she could hear paranormal attempts at communication from the other side, maybe, just maybe, she would be sensitive enough to hear Rick's amateur trials with thought transference.

"You look a little better than you did yesterday," Kat observed. He heard a bit of pep spark into her voice, but it was obviously a result of seeing more colour and health in his relaxed face. "I know I said I would come visit you earlier, but we had a murder-suicide at work today and I was stuck at the scene for three hours past my shift."

_Three hours? _Rick thought. He began working his way through simple math. _Second shift ends at 2300 hours, so with an extra three hours, it would be 0200 hours when she was relieved. So it must be somewhere between 2 and 3 AM._

"It's 2:37 AM," Kat muttered. "Friday morning. I'm so exhausted, but I'm off tomorrow so I will be able to come and see you again at a better time."

Rick couldn't help but wonder if Kat had subconsciously heard his thoughts. The probability of such was slim, but any kind of hope was better than none at this point. He decided to keep trying.

_You sound sad, Kat. What's bothering you?_

"We could've used you at work today. It was just one of those days. Many times today I found myself wishing you were at the scene. You always make the best decisions during difficult situations like that. You're a far better leader than I am."

_But why do you sound so upset? I can hear it in your voice. You don't sound like your usual sarcastic, bouncy self. What's wrong, Kat? _ Rick had known Katharine since they had entered the police academy together at the age of twenty. Over the decade he noticed that few things emotionally affected the brown-haired deputy whom he considered one of his best friends. She was just as much a sister to him as Shane was a brother. For the normally cheerful, carefree, humorous, and sardonic Katharine to be speaking with a raspy, deepened, serious, and depressed tone, something tragic must have happened. The only time he could truly remember hearing her sound like this was when she had lost her husband.

"I really hope you wake up soon," Kat was saying. "You need to." He heard her chuckle half-heartedly. "I could really use one of our sit-by-a-bond-fire-and-bullshit-over-a-few-beers nights. I'm sure you're thinking the same on your end."

_You have no idea_. Rick definitely felt that he could go for one of those beer and bond fire nights with Kat, which always served as amazing de-stressors. They would sit outside for hours in Kat's backyard, venting their problems, giving each other advice, laughing about them, and then picking on each other just like old siblings. It was refreshing to get a woman's input and counsel from someone that he wasn't involved with, which allowed him the freedom of knowing he could tell her anything and trust her with his private business. It was something that he couldn't share with his wife due to the ridiculous fights she would pick whenever he would try to share his feelings. Rick knew the feeling was mutual on Kat's end when it came to needing a man's two cents, but he suspected that she simply didn't want to share her feelings with Shane. _Once I am up and walking again, I'm going straight to your house and you better have that bond fire ready and a twelve pack in the fridge!_

Aside from the need to vent all of the stress associated with his injury, Rick really wanted his friend's advice on what he needed to do about Lori. His wife had become an utter bitch ever since their son, Carl, had entered kindergarten. Before now, he had simply written his wife's behaviour off as a phase, hormones, or some other temporary agitation that she would eventually get over. But in the recent months, Lori had even suggested separation. The idea of being cast away from the woman he loved terrified him. The confusion and anguish it would force his son to endure wasn't even something he was willing to consider.

"I lost two of my friends today," Katharine admitted. "Mike and Lynn Sommers, you remember them? Lynn's parents, Mike's mom, and some construction guy, too. All dead now. They were all sick with some kind of new disease that's going around. Nobody has ever seen it before, I guess. Made poor Mike go out of his mind and try to kill Jay. I had to shoot him, Rick. I had to shoot him."

Rick heard his friend crack into a sniffle and reach for a tissue. _I'm so sorry, Kat. _He continued to imagine his thoughts entering her ears, trying to strengthen his signal.

"Found Lynn inside," Kat explained after she had blown her nose and wiped her eyes. "She . . ." Kat faded off as she fought off tears that were trying to suppress her larynx. "Umm, well, long story short, Lynn pulled a suicide by cop. I was that cop. I'll . . . I'll tell you about it later, when I feel up to it."

_I am really sorry for your loss._ Rick wished he had the ability to give his friend a brotherly hug of condolence. Ever since the sudden death of her husband, Kat had never been very good at grieving._ This has to be unbearably hard for you. I can't imagine._

"It's eerie, when someone is about to die. When they know it's coming and they've accepted their own death, you can just feel it through the way they talk and stuff. I guess what they say about suicide is true; when someone's really serious about it and ready to check out, there's no stopping that person."

Kat took another quick break to empty the contents of her nose into a fresh tissue.

"You better wake your ass up soon, cuz I really don't feel like going to three funerals in one week." Rick could tell she was joking; that was the harmlessly sarcastic nature of how they spoke to one another.

_Sheesh Kat, I'm trying._

"That and I really don't like the idea of you being in this hospital with all these sick people and shit. Hospitals give me the creeps."

At least someone outside of the medical profession was encouraging him to come out of the coma. His own wife didn't seem too interested, for she had only popped in on occasion and hardly spoken to him when she did. She had mostly asked the nurses about his condition, and he was beginning to wonder if Lori even knew that people in comas were often conscious beneath their paralysed shells.

"Seen your wife this morning," Kat grumbled. "Dropped Erin and the twins off at school and she was outside saying something to Carl. Didn't catch what she said, but after she sent him on his way, she came up to me and was asking a billion questions. She seemed pretty worried about you and had tears in her eyes. I'm not sure though, should I be surprised that she isn't in here right now?"

_Honestly, I'm asking myself the same question. _Rick almost felt a sensation of mobility running up and down his arms. He wondered if he was beginning to make some progress with his recovery, but felt disheartened when his arms and fingers began to feel as if they weighed a hundred pounds of dead weight each. The tingling feelings that were starting to etch their ways through his limbs felt similar to a reawakened arm that had been improperly slept on and put to sleep.

"Ya know, I never really did think much of her," Kat confessed. It wasn't news to Rick's ears; Kat had hinted over the years that she wasn't too fond of Lori. "Funny how she always glares at me like she's jealous or something. Probably is. Yet when something bad happens to you, she starts to act like she's my best friend. Heh!"

_She is jealous of you. She hates how we hang out all the time. Probably thinks we're fucking or some stupid crap like that._

"If you'd like, I'll whip her skinny ass for you. But you gotta wake up for that to happen cuz I want you to see it." Kat was chuckling again, and Rick knew she was only trying to utilise humour to get through to him. Rick and Kat always threatened to kill each other, burn each other's houses down, drug and date rape each other, or bomb each other's cars. But it was always in good fun and never serious.

_I really wish I could move right now. You won't believe what she said to me in front of Carl yesterday._

Rick then heard one of the many individualised notification ringtones that Kat had programmed into her phone chiming. He recognised it as Shane's.

"But in exchange, you have to beat up Shane for me."

_Oh God, what did he do now?_ Rick wondered as he heard Kat check her phone.

"I broke up with him the other day, before you got hurt. I'm sure he made a beeline to your house right after."

_Oh yeah, I remember that now. Poor Shane, he was so crushed. You really shouldn't break his heart like that. One of these days you're gonna throw him over the edge, or at least make him do something really, really stupid. He's a great guy but you gotta remember he tends to let his emotions run wild and get him into trouble . . ._

"Now he won't stop blowing up my phone and he's being all friendly 'n shit with me at work. I don't know what he told you, but my reasons for doing it are that he's gotten too clingy and emotional. He just won't give me my space. Last week he asked me what I thought of becoming Mrs. Walsh, and that scared the hell out of me. I know it's been six years, but I'm just not ready to get married again."

For the first time since his accident, Rick was rather relieved that he couldn't speak. He honestly didn't know what to say. He hated taking sides, especially when the opponents were his two best friends. He felt that Kat took Shane's behaviour for granted, but at the same time, he could see why she was feeling smothered and controlled by it.

"I don't know what's wrong with me. Probably fear or some other retarded thing. I don't get emotions. They're stupid."

_Shane loves you._

"Anyways, I should probably be getting home. It's so late and the babysitter is waiting for me. Hope to see you walking around tomorrow. Hang in there, Brohan."

* * *

><p>Despite his exhaustion from having been through a police shootout, a horrifying first encounter with walkers, and a broken heart all in less than seventy-two hours, Shane couldn't sleep. Insomnia plagued him like a case of zombie fever, tormenting him with brief flashbacks of the zombified faces that he had just been introduced to. He felt heaviness in his chest and emptiness in his soul as he tossed and turned on his lonely couch, wishing he had something other than a pillow to hold against him. He felt betrayed, used, unloved, and unappreciated. On top of that, he was becoming paranoid that another rotten carcass would show up and try to break through his window. Witnessing Lynn's parents' maggot-ridden bodies stand up and charge towards him had been quite enough. After each zombie had taken several rounds in the chest, the only bullets that had brought them down had been the ones that wound up in their heads.<p>

Shane shook his head to rid his mind of the memories, letting it drift back to his misunderstanding over Kat. He had given everything he had to that girl. He'd been there for her in the months following her husband's death; taking time off of work to be with her while she moped around in bereavement. He'd let her cry on his shoulder and had sat patiently with her while she stared off into space for hours on end. He'd taken her daughter to school every day, picked her up, and carted her around to playgrounds and in the more recent years, softball games. Even after Kat had finally gotten past her abnormally long period of grievous depression, he'd stuck around. And now, six years and three kids later, Kat had tossed Shane in the trash. After all that and way more, Kat now considered him to be more worthless than a screen door on a submarine.

Shane didn't understand. He thought he had done everything right. Kat had even told him directly that he was a better partner and father than her deceased spouse had been. But now, all of a sudden, she viewed him as little more than an aggravating emotional wreck that wasn't worth dealing with anymore. And of course, like always, she wouldn't justify her thinking. Whenever he tried to summon an explanation from her, she would either say she didn't know how to put her feelings into words and drop the conversation, or she would simply blow a gasket.

Confusion was a parasite that stung at the soul of its host like a swarm of bees. Shane's head told him to move on, but his heart wouldn't let him. He loved Katharine and he wanted to fix things. He hadn't spent the last six years of his life with her for nothing and he refused to let his longest lasting relationship be in vain. He had to do something before he ran out of time. Perhaps it was the threat of plague, or maybe it was paranoia elicited by his overwhelming emotions, but for some eerie, inexplicable reason, Shane sensed that he was going to lose her. Every instinct in his heart was telling him to act now and get Kat back before it was too late.

Shane opened his phone and viewed his text message thread with Kat Burke. Excluding the texts he had sent her at work, Kat had ignored the additional five texts he had sent her after their relief from overtime duties. He thought about trying one last time for the night, but couldn't think of anything to say. His head was trying to feed him a dose of rationality, which for a brief moment, Shane considered. After six years, he and Kat still had never officially lived together. Sure, they spent most of their off-time at each other's houses, but every year when it came time to renew their leases, Kat would keep hers from Shane and refuse to write her name on his. She never spoke of marriage unless Shane initiated a conversation about it, and those brief talks never went anywhere. The excuse she had was that she didn't want to betray her dead husband by marrying another man. It was stupid. The guy had been an uneducated auto mechanic and a lazy prick. Katharine had only married the idiot because her outrageously Catholic family had forced her to after he knocked her up two years before she'd gone to academy. There had been zero love between them. Yet when along came a handsome police officer who had his shit together, wanted to provide for a family, and was willing to give his life for the woman he had fallen in love with, nobody cared. For almost the full six years, Shane had told Kat that he loved her with all his heart and he was still waiting to hear her say it back. Any normal, sane man would have probably given up years ago.

Love truly was blinding, or at least colour blinding, for Shane just wasn't comprehending the severity or meaning of any of the huge red flags that his situation was waving right in front of him. He shook the negative thoughts away and sent Kat a final text message. _'i know u don't want 2 hear from me nemore but at least give the kids a kiss 4 me n let them know i luv them when u wake up k?'_ It was the last and only thing he could think of to say. It pissed him off knowing that he wasn't going to be able to do it himself.

The frustrating persistence of insomnia had Shane so desperate for sleep that he was actually thinking about counting sheep. But every time he shut his eyes, flashbacks of the horrifying crime scene played in loop in front of his closed eyelids. Just when he decided to give it a shot, he was shocked to hear his phone beep as it received a text message.

_'A kiss from my lips under your name is about as legitimate as a promise from one of those skinny Santas at the mall.'_

Uncalled for, the harsh words of Katharine's text were yet another figurative slap in the face.

_'Then let me do it myself. plz?'_

Shane didn't expect to receive an answer.

Several minutes passed and once again he found himself wide awake inside of his fatigued, aching body. His thoughts began to race anew and he pondered how and why words had the ability to inflict so much pain and tried to figure out what he had done to deserve them. He also began to wonder if reciprocated love was simply too much to ask for. He became so lost in his trepidation that it began to mingle with the flashbacks, causing him so see sporadic images of Katharine and himself as zombies. The ghastly visions stressed him out so bad that he didn't even notice his phone sound off again. When he finally picked the device up twenty minutes later, at 3:16 AM, he felt a mixture of surprise, relief, hope, and anxiety as he reopened his inbox.

_'Just as well,' _had been Katharine's reply at 2:56.

Shane had no idea what she meant by that, but he wasn't going to sit there and think about it anymore. He rolled off the couch and slid into a pair of pyjama pants, a t-shirt, and grass-stained sneakers that were still tied. A few minutes later, he found himself cruising down the lonely back roads of King County, flying through his Jeep's gears as he made his way to Kat's house. The angry voice of Eminem emanated through the truck's speakers, rhyming about life in such a way that Shane felt as if the rapper was speaking directly to him.

_"No more pain, bitch, you took me for granted  
><em>_Took my heart and ran it straight into the planet  
><em>_Into the dirt, I can no longer stand it  
><em>_Now my respect, I demand it  
><em>_Imma take control of this relationship, command it  
><em>_'N Imma be the boss of you now, goddamn it  
><em>_And what I mean is I will no longer let you control me  
><em>_So you better hear me out, this much you owe me  
><em>_I gave up my life for you, totally devoted to you while I stayed  
><em>_Thankful all the way, this is how I fucking get repaid?  
><em>_Look at how I dress, fucking baggy sweats, go to work a mess  
><em>_Always in a rush to get back to you, I ain't heard you yet  
><em>_Not even once say you appreciate me, I deserve respect  
><em>_I've done my best to give you nothing less than perfectness  
><em>_And I know that if I end this I'll no longer have nothing left  
><em>_But you keep treating me like a staircase; it's time to fucking step  
><em>_And I won't be coming back so don't hold your fucking breath  
><em>_You know what you've done, no need to go in depth  
><em>_I told you you'd be sorry if I fucking left, I'd laugh while you wept  
><em>_How's it feel? Funny, ain't it? You neglected me  
><em>_Did me a favour although my spirit free you've set  
><em>_But a special place for you in my heart I have kept  
><em>_It's unfortunate, but it's just . . .  
><em>_Too late, for the other side  
><em>_Caught in a chase, 25 to life . . ."_

The lyrics fed the thoughts of his head and heart, which continued to argue amongst themselves as if the two figurative body parts were caught up in an everlasting domestic dispute deep inside his soul. He began to feel so entangled by their drama that he didn't know how much more he could take, and for a brief moment he almost felt like driving his Jeep straight into a tree. Considering the fact that the resulting head injury or death would surely silence his anguish, the thought was appealing. But he decided against it; the suicide rate had been far too high today, and he knew it would only make things worse. He had to get busy living anyways, since everyone else seemed to be getting busy on the new dying trend.

"_I feel like when I bend over backwards for you, all you do is laugh  
><em>_Cuz I ain't good enough, you expect me to fold myself in half 'til I snap"_

It was 3:41 AM when Shane pulled into Kat's driveway. He was glad to find his Jeep's usual resting place available in the driveway; at least that meant that there wasn't another man in the picture. He parked the Jeep between Kat's patrol car and her brand new black Ford Escape and decided to absorb the rest of the song's lyrics before getting out.

_"Evil as they come, vindictive as they make 'em  
><em>_My friends keep asking me why I can't just walk away from you  
><em>_I'm addicted to the pain, the stress, the drama  
><em>_I'm drawn in, so I guess Imma mess, cursed and blessed  
><em>_But this time I ain't changing my mind  
><em>_I'm climbing out this abyss  
><em>_You screaming as I walk out that I'll be missed  
><em>_But when you spoke of people who meant the most to you, you left me off your list  
><em>_Fuck you hip-hop, I'm leaving you  
><em>_My life sentence is served, bitch, but it's just . . .  
><em>_Too late, for the other side  
><em>_Caught in a chase, 25 to life . . ."_

As always, almost every light was on in the house. Knowing that Kat's children would be asleep, he avoided the doorbell and opened the security code box that had been installed beside it. He went to disarm it, but hesitated, suddenly fearing that perhaps the code had been changed. His heart began to race, not only from the risk he ran of activating the burglar alarm, but also because he was having seconds thoughts about coming here. Kat's verbal assault during the breakup had been torturous enough. Going through it again was not something he planned to do.

_Jesus, Shane, quit being such a pussy and face it!_ he told himself. Before his mind could involuntarily change itself to chicken-out mode, he slammed his fingers against the rubber dials and breathed a sigh of relief when the system disarmed.

The downstairs floor of Kat's house was silent aside from the old grandfather clock that ticked peacefully in the living room. After kicking off his dirty shoes, locking the door, and rearming the security system, Shane began his typical nightly ritual of blackening Kat's house one light switch at a time. Beneath the closed door leading to Kat's daughter's bedroom, he noticed a flickering of blues and oranges, indicating that her television was still on. He peeked in and saw that ten year old Erin Burke had dozed off in the middle of a _Family Guy_ rerun, so he tiptoed in and silenced the already quieted TV.

Finding the upstairs completely dark was a shock. Even the corridor nightlight was off. Kat's bedroom door was open, as was the one across the hall where her twins slept. Shane walked into the children's bedroom and found them snuggled under their blankets, fast asleep. They didn't stir as he leaned over each one to plant a goodnight kiss on their foreheads. "Sweet dreams, Daddy loves you," he whispered to each. He closed their door behind him when he was done.

Kat Burke was passed out on her bed, back to the door and still in uniform when Shane walked in. Her utility belt was the only thing she had bothered to take off, which had been left in the middle of the floor with her boots. He moved it aside before crawling onto the bed behind her. Wrapped loosely in Katharine's arms was their thirteen month old son, who was in the process of drizzling a puddle of drool onto the blanket.

Before Shane could put his arm around her, Kat groaned and squinted at him over her shoulder with bloodshot, puffy eyes. It was obvious that she had bawled them out recently, as tissues littered the far side of the bed beside a photo album and a fresh box of Puffs.

"What are you doing here?" Kat asked groggily with a hint of irritation.

"Came to turn your lights off," Shane whispered with a smile. He reached up, placed his hand on her cheek and was surprised when he felt her press against his palm, taking comfort in his touch.

"Thanks, Mom," Kat muttered, rolling her swollen eyes.

"Actually I just wanted to see ya," Shane explained. "I miss you so much. You have no idea. I was worried about you, especially after what happened today. I wanted to make sure you and the kids were okay."

"We're fine," Kat said before resuming her restful position.

"I don't want to lose you."

"Lose me? Pfft, I'm pretty sure you've already done that."

"Kat, stop being so mean to me. I don't know why you gotta treat me like shit. I love you."

Kat sighed quickly, emphasising her annoyance at him showing up at her house. "Shane, this isn't a good time to . . ."

"Then when is it a good time? It never is with you."

Kat rolled onto her back with a glare in her eyes and found herself partially beneath him as he leaned over her, his face mere inches away from hers. "When I'm not upset and tired."

"This is the only time I've tried when you are upset and tired."

She sighed again and shut her eyes, admitting defeat without words.

"Do you have any idea how what you're doing to me makes me feel?"

"Not really," she whimpered, wiping fresh liquid from her eyes.

"Well it hurts," Shane huffed. "It hurts a lot. That kind of hurt that is so bad ya start to feel it physically. It feels like I've had a knife shoved into my heart."

"I'm sorry. Really, I am. But can we talk about this in the morning? I'm exhausted."

"I've heard that one a million times too."

"I _promise_. Okay?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"How about this? After we get up in the morning, I'll take the kids to their grandma's and we can go get breakfast or something and just talk. Sound good?"

"After _we_ get up?" Shane felt a bit of hope. "Does that mean I can stay here tonight?"

Katharine rolled her eyes again, realising that she hadn't chosen her words before reflexively speaking. "Whatever."

"You're not gonna make me sleep on the couch are ya?"

"Well, I was just about to suggest that . . ."

"Aww, come on!" Shane begged playfully, trying to elicit a smile from the woman he loved. He gave her a puppy dog face, something that worked every time.

Kat finally grinned, knowing she couldn't fight the expression no matter how hard she tried. "Oh, all right."

"Junior's hogging my side of the bed," Shane said, nodding towards the baby. "Knew you couldn't stand to sleep alone!" Now that he was getting somewhere positive, he didn't feel quite so dark inside. It wasn't much, but it was enough to spark a bit of friskiness in him.

"Shut up," Kat laughed quietly, slapping him jokingly on the shoulder. "Put him in his crib."

"You're not gonna sleep in that, are ya?" Shane asked after he had eased his son into his crib and kissed him.

"Too tired to change."

"So you're gonna make me sleep next to a sweaty popo? That ain't fun to cuddle with. Ewww."

"Oh so now you want me to shower too, huh? Jerk."

"Yep."

"Make me," Kat challenged half-heartedly.

"No prob hun," Shane said. Before she could protest, he slid his arms under her body, picked her up, and placed her on her feet. He then pulled her against him and held her tight, still gnawed at by that feeling of impending doom that he was going to lose her for good. Kat relaxed in his embrace, seeking out the comfort of his beating heart with her ear as she rested her somnolent head on his chest. Shane became lost in his fears once again, conflict mounting within him as the lyrics of Eminem's song echoed over and over in his head. Flashbacks teased him incessantly, and for a split second he almost believed them.

Looking down into Kat's eyes as she gazed up at him, he watched in horror as his mind warped the image of her perfect face into that of a rotten, snarling, lipless walker with eyes ten times more bloodshot than they actually were. Shane felt paralysed as the apparition's sunken face moved closer to his, undoubtedly with every intention to eat his face. But the hallucination skewed itself away when instead of teeth he felt Kat's soft open lips brush against his own. The seductive gesture freed him of his paralysis, sucking him in as their lips met again in a passionate tangle. He reached up and gently pried the large hairclip from Kat's thick mane, feeling her long locks fall loosely around his fingers as he raked them over her scalp, knocking out the bobby pins that were camouflaged into them. He felt Kat's nails dig lightly into his shirt as she ran her fingers down his back, stopping briefly to give his ass a playful squeeze before sneaking beneath the blue fabric. The sensation of her nails grazing up over his bare skin sent a chill through him. He broke away from the kiss just long enough to relinquish his shirt, drawing her back in as she tossed it somewhere on the floor around them.

Katharine pressed her body against him, almost as if to block his roaming hands from the zipper that would grant Shane access to the inside of her uniform. She giggled as he began to part her lips with his hungry tongue, feeling his growing erection through his pyjamas in response to her subtle movements. Shane kept his hands occupied by grabbing a fistful of her long brown hair to urge her head back, exposing her neck so he could graze it with the tip of his tongue. The motion pulled her away just enough that he could ease his other hand over her shirt's zipper and slowly pull it down as she moaned softly in his ear. As she reluctantly pried her own hands from their sensual exploration of his ripped abdomen, she allowed her fingertips to brush over his now aching erection, emphasising the stroke in slow motion just to be a tease.

"Why we gotta wear so much shit?" Shane asked with a sly smile as he severed the Velcro straps of Kat's bulletproof vest. "Makes it so tedious to get to the good part."

"Because we're cops, of course," Kat giggled. "It wouldn't be as fun if we didn't have these hard exteriors to peel through." She slid out of her vest and sweaty undershirt, then pulled her long time lover into another passionate kiss before he could attack her bra.

"Oh I'm still trying to break through your shell," Shane said between her tasty oral assaults. "One of these days, I'll knock that wall down."

"Mmmhmm," Kat hummed, ending his semi-serious conversation by reaching into his loose-fitting pants.

Shane tilted his head back and breathed deeply, shuttering with a low animalistic grumble as he felt Kat free his throbbing cock from the confines of his pants, replacing them with her own mouth following several gentle tongue flicks against the head. Looking down, Shane saw her staring up at him, her face filled with longing and what he assumed was love. Her seductive eyes mesmerised him, luring him into a trance that for the first time in days liberated him of his heavy thoughts. He couldn't peel his eyes away from her flawless face as she opened her throat to receive his entire length. He felt her lips close around him, drawing on him, wanting to pleasure every fibre of his being. He saw the sides of her lips turn happily, his ragged breathing sending thrills of excitement through her heated body. He continued to run his hands through her silky hair as he again pulled his eyes away to throw his head back as every drop of essence within his naked body seemed to amplify in mind-numbing amounts.

Again, Shane fixed his glassy eyes on her as he reached down to unclip her bra. For a brief second, another flashback filled his sights as the highly arousing image of Kat flickered into that of the imaginary lipless walker whose facial muscles were so badly decayed that her dry, leathery skin clung to her skull like the glue of a linoleum floor. Shane blinked rapidly and pulled back slightly, relieved when the hallucination winked out. Kat didn't seem to register his moment of post-traumatic stress for she grinned up at him, swirling her strong tongue along the underside of his cock as his soft groans filled her ears.

Finally, the last of Shane's restraint vanished. He reached down, gripped her under her arms, and pulled her up to meet him in a fierce kiss as he forced her back down onto the mattress and heatedly stripped her of the lower half of her uniform. Kat spread her legs as he knelt down, giggling as she realised what was about to come. The look in her eyes begged him not to make her wait for it; as soon as Shane's slightly rough tongue touched her swollen sensitive areas, Kat choked out a half-whimper, half-moan before pushing her head back into the squishy feather comforter. With almost painstaking tenderness he explored her tastes, chuckling softly each time she writhed just enough to displace his tongue toward the source of her sweet wetness.

The sudden painful expression that crossed Kat's face wasn't something that Shane found unusual. She often appeared to be in agony as her orgasms built to overwhelming levels of pleasure and tension. But for once the cringe was genuine; as she watched her mate intensify his ravenous licking his skin suddenly began to look greyer and greyer. His face seemed to sink into the crevices of his skull and his bulging eyes clouded over into blind, almost solid white orbs. Confusion wracked her soul. Her sexual brain warned her of an impending orgasm while the brain between her ears registered a fear that was trying to motivate her to bolt. But the orgasm quickly won the battle, throwing her vocal cords into a low, primal howl as pleasure shuddered out through her clamped inner walls in the form of delicious come that Shane lapped up like a thirsty puppy. When she dared to look back down, Shane was flexing his eyebrows at her, the corners of his lips turned into a victorious yet loving grin as he finished savouring her succulent juices.

A simple beckon of Kat's finger brought Shane back on top of her. His mouth met hers again with a hidden urgency as he positioned himself between her open thighs, eyes glazed over with passion and excitement. Kat gripped onto his shoulders as he eased inside of her, causing her to cry out to him as he filled her. Shane grasped her smooth legs and brought them up to rest on his muscular shoulders as he thrust into her, feeling her nails scrape down his arms as she rose up to meet his strokes and place herself into the magical angle that would earn her another orgasm. After several weeks of abstinence due to tension in their relationship, Shane was happy to feel how tight and hot she had become. He clenched his teeth as he laboured over her, growling lustfully when he felt the tips of her breasts teasing his chest. She arched her back, pressing herself up against him as much as possible.

Liquid fire consumed Kat as another orgasm surged over her several minutes later, causing her to scream out his name, not caring if the whole damn world heard it. The contracting of her muscles around him and the intensity of her heat drove him over the edge and he joined her in her cries of animal passion, roaring her name loudly as he climaxed inside of her.

Shane collapsed against her in sheer exhaustion, his breathing laboured. He felt her legs slide down his sides to rest against his lower half and she nipped gently at his ear, clenching herself around his cock, enticing another deep groan from him. He shifted his body until he was looking down at her, his eyes glinting like two jewels in the pale moonlight that drifted in from the window. He slid out of her and rolled onto his back, dragging her with him to lay her head against his chest. His one arm wrapped around her waist and the other reached out to pull the blankets over top of their sweat glistened bodies. Forgetting about the flashbacks and their warped images of near-necrophilia and giving up on the plan to take a shower, they waited for their racing hearts to calm until finally, the much needed blissfulness of sleep overcame them.

Hours later, long after daylight had become a dominant force in the sky, Shane and Katharine were jolted awake by a terrified, bloodcurdling scream . . .

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><p>Do you see now why I cut Chapter 1 in half? I write a lot. Yeah, I'm one of <em>those<em> authors. Now that you've trudged through all those words . . . .

**REVIEW MY STORY! **

If you don't, I will lock you in a barn full of walkers. :)

I should have another chapter up in the next few days. If I get reviews, anyways.

The song that Shane listens to in this chapter is "25 to Life" by Eminem. It's from his _Recovery_ album. Credit for the lyrics goes to Eminem, of course.

To state the obvious (for disclaimer purposes), the passages that Kat reads from were taken from the Bible . . . Credit for those goes to . . . umm, Jesus and all those other dead people who wrote it . . .

Do you have any suggestions, ideas, comments, or critiques? Pairings you'd like to see? Characters you would like to see zombified or just flat out eaten alive? Suggest away in your review!

_**My Zombie Valentine**_ copyright © **28 March 2012** by _**Darkinyron**_

_**The Walking Dead **_copyright © _**Robert Kirkman**_


	3. Zombie

**MY ZOMBIE VALENTINE  
><strong>**By: Darkinyron**

Thank you so much for the reviews so far! I am glad to see that people are picking up on the little subtleties, foreshadows, and symbolisms that I've been writing into this story. There's plenty more of that to come. Also glad to hear that people like my OC! It's always been an annoyance of mine when people create unrealistic, perfect characters and write faerie tales with them. Even more so when they take the canon characters and idealise them. It was definitely a goal of mine to give all of my OC's authentic personalities, lifestyles, and problems.

To the reviewer who is concerned that this will become another one of those stories that is a rewrite of scenes from the TV series, don't worry! :) There will be chapters that tie into scenes from the show, but nothing will be rewritten for the purposes of including OC's or to alter something that I just didn't like. Things will go off in a whole new direction when this story approaches the end of Season 2 though, so just be warned of that. I may have to rewrite ONE or two scenes to include alterations so that this story makes sense just before it spins off, but I haven't decided whether or not I will yet. At this time I do not plan on it. I will leave it up to the readers when we get to that point.

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><p><strong>~ CHAPTER 3 ~<strong>

**ZOMBIE**

EVERY PARENT'S WORST fear sprung to life as Shane's mind registered the macabre alarm clock that was his children's screams. At first he thought he had been dreaming, for the noise had silenced once he opened his eyes. But when he felt Kat's knee dig into his gut as she crawled over him, he realised that it was a nightmare come true. As he jumped out of bed he saw Kat dashing into the hallway, pulling a purple bathrobe over her arms as she rushed down the stairs. Another scream came, this one continuous between its creator's breaths, sending chills of terror down Shane's spine as he yanked his pants on. He paused just long enough to grab the black Taurus .357 revolver that Kat kept at her bedside.

Shane slid down the staircase's banister to catch up with her. They followed the scream's origin towards the rear of Kat's house. As they ran into the kitchen, its door flew open and the couple's twins darted into the house from outside, passing their parents before scampering upstairs to the safety of their bedroom. The screaming continued as Kat and Shane flew outside, discovering its source all the way across the lawn. Erin Burke was being backed against the house of the adjacent property by two fresh and very hungry walkers.

"Get away from my baby you sons of bitches!" Kat roared as she sprinted barefoot across the yard, reaching down midstride to pick up her daughter's littered wooden softball bat. She charged towards the zombies at full speed like a mother lioness rushing to protect her young.

One of the walkers swivelled himself around and exposed his pearly whites at the two humans who were now operating on pure animal instincts, their predatory potential matching his own. He barely made a single challenging step before Kat brought the heavy bat down upon his head like an axe, knocking him onto the ground. What was left of the zombie's connection to life was severed before he even had a chance to fight back when his head was repeatedly smashed into pulp by the makeshift weapon. Kat cursed the zombie as she beat him to his second death, letting the rage flow through her arms and into the bat long after the corpse's head was beyond recognisable.

The other undead man grabbed the struggling Erin by the wrists as Shane skidded to a halt in front of him. He scraped his nails against her forearms as the shrieking child twisted in almost unnatural directions, trying to get away from the walking corpse whose physical vigour far exceeded her own. Just as the creature was about to take his first bite of human flesh, he was thrown into the neighbours house by the force of a bullet entering him. Seeing that the bullet hadn't hit its intended organ, Shane aimed again at the walker's head and ended its resurrection with another shot.

"Erin! Get inside and close the door!" Shane yelled at the little girl as she ran past him, still screaming. He turned his head to witness a third bloodied carcass stumble around the corner of the house. Unlike the first two who had died so recently they could have almost passed for living men, the naked zombie of the elderly Markus Cuddigan was almost completely flayed and gutted. The only muscles that were left to keep him standing were the posterior ones still connected to his spine, scapulae, and pelvis. His right arm had been completely chewed away, leaving only a dripping meaty stub that was now festering with maggots. Whatever zombie had eaten him for breakfast had scalped his head with its own teeth and hands, taking the whole upper half of his face's skin off in the process. Old Markus' once blue eyes were fixed on him, staring at him impassively through layers of murky decay as they bulged out of their lidless sockets like a skeletal robot. Even the poor gentleman's dick and balls had been chewed off.

The corpse wobbled toward Shane, who let out a sickened gasp at the horrific sight. Instinct allowed his trembling hands to operate the gun again. Once the elderly man had taken a round in the neck and fallen, Kat rushed up to him and began smashing her neighbour's head in, covering up the noises made by his crunching bones and spurting thick blood with her angry, fearful sobs. Shane quickly scanned his surroundings multiple times and decided that there weren't any more walkers in the area.

"Kat, stop!" he shouted, running over to the woman whose wrath was obviously out of control. She continued swinging the baseball bat in a motion more appropriate for splitting wood, covering herself with blood spatter and rotten chunks of brain. "That's enough! Kat!"

When Shane's voice finally got through to her, Kat keeled forward and erupted into a fresh wave of tears. He knelt beside her trembling form and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"C'mon, Kat, we've gotta get away from here," he insisted, squeezing her shoulders softly. She sobbed her eyes out for a few minutes before abruptly silencing the overwhelming emotions that were wracking her lungs and eyes. She shrugged Shane's hands off and stood, then raised her hands to wipe her eyes but gasped when she saw the black and bright red blood that covered them.

"Oh my God," Katharine sniffled. "What have I done?"

"Kat, it's gonna be okay," Shane soothed. He pulled her bloodied form against him and ran his fingers through her hair, surprised at how quickly her tears had ceased. "Come on; let's go back inside."

"I killed them!" Kat shouted, suddenly and forcefully pushing herself away from his embrace. "I _killed_ them! I killed my own neighbour!"

"Kat, look at him!" Shane snapped. "If yesterday wasn't proof enough to you that these people are dead, then this should be!"

"He was sick, you bastard!"

"And you think that even if they find a cure for this disease that someone can recover from that?" Shane lectured, trying hard not to sound as angry as he felt. He pointed at the eviscerated corpse. "Look at him! He's missing an arm, his face is gone, 'n he's got fucking maggots in his chest! His vital organs are gone!"

"Then how . . ."

"He's dead, Kat! Use your head! You're a cop and your father's a doctor. Don't you know they use maggots to eat necrotic flesh off of sick patients? Flies don't lay eggs in living flesh, Kat, they lay eggs in things that are already _dead_! How many signal 58's have we been on where you've seen that?"

Kat looked around her as if searching the grass for words. Her mouth hung open as she tried to process her devastation and accept the facts. Shane was right, but something inside of her wouldn't allow her to believe any of it.

"Hey," Shane said softly after several painfully long moments. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. I know it's hard to wrap your head around it all. I'm still having a hard time with it too, ya know." Shane then put his hand around Kat's upper arm and began to gently guide her back towards her house. The screams coming from their children had finally died out. "Think of it this way—they aren't suffering anymore. Mike, Lynn, Mr. Cuddigan, whoever these other guys are . . . they were all terminally ill and they are no longer suffering. You heard what Lynn said yesterday. The disease spreads itself like rabies through bites and scratches. None of these people asked for this. None of them would want their bodies to be controlled by this sickness, infecting other people. It's not their fault they got bit. It's not their fault that they in turn bit someone else to spread the disease. It's not your fault or theirs that you did what you had to do."

"Like you said, Shane, we're cops," Kat whispered. "We don't kill sick people. We get help for them."

"Kat, you can't fix dead," Shane pointed out sternly.

"Yet the dead can come back to life?"

"It's the disease, Kat. It's something about the disease that makes them do that. It's gotta be."

"So they're not really dead."

"I don't know."

"I'm in such turmoil," Kat whined. "I can't handle this."

"We'll figure it out," Shane assured as they approached the house. "I promise. For now let's just check on our kids."

"Oh my God," Kat practically yelled as she took off into the house, realising she had absentmindedly blocked out the fact that her children had just been attacked. Shane jogged in behind her; they found their three oldest kids huddled together on the living room couch with tear streaked faces. Hearing the baby cry, Kat ran upstairs to clean up and tend to him.

"Are you guys okay?" Shane asked the young group, kneeling in front of the couch to examine their trembling forms. "They didn't bite you did they?" The twins shook their heads.

"Daddy what was wrong with those men?" Shane's five year old daughter asked over a stuffy nose. It broke his heart to see her state of bewilderment and fear through her facial expressions and puffy eyes.

"They were sick sweetie," he answered, ruffling her wavy black hair. "Don't worry. You're safe now. They can't hurt you anymore."

"He scratched me!" Erin suddenly cried. She held her forearms out for Shane to examine. His face whitened upon seeing five long scrapes on each of her arms, their lines consistent with the claw mark patterns of a human hand.

"Oh my God," Shane gasped. "Kat!"

"What?" she called over the running water from the upstairs bathroom.

"Get down here!"

A minute later she ran back down the stairs with a hand towel, drying her now blood-free hands, leaving the baby still crying in his crib.

"What's the matter?" she asked, somewhat confused when she saw the unusually panicked look on Shane's face. She was clearly torn between responding to Shane's worried demand and her ten month old son's hungry cries.

"Zombie got Erin," he told her. "Scratched her."

"No!" Kat cried, rushing to her daughter. "No, no, no!"

"What do we do?" Shane asked desperately. He stood and raked his fingers through his messy hair, trying to think.

"Get the baby!" she ordered as she examined her weeping daughter's wounds. The long abrasions were bright red and only a few had been deep enough to draw blood, which as minimal as a scratch made by a cat. "It's not bad!" she shouted as Shane ran up the stairs. She then picked up her daughter and carried her into the kitchen.

"Mama it hurts!" Erin whined as she was placed on top of the counter.

"It's gonna be okay," Kat soothed as she reached into the chemical cabinet below the sink. She retrieved a bottle of surgical soap containing povidone iodine and pried its crusty cap open with her teeth. "Hold your arms out," she instructed, turning the water on.

"Did they hurt you?" Erin asked while Kat drizzled the orange liquid all over her daughter's wounds. She nodded toward all of the blood that was still splattered on her mother's face and bath robe.

"No. I'm okay," Kat answered with a nod. "Shane's okay too." She began scrubbing the iodine against Erin's scratches rather roughly, hoping that it would kill the infectious pathogens that she feared had been on the walker's nails before it could enter her bloodstream through the tiny cuts. She repeatedly rinsed and applied more of the antiseptic, anxious that it wouldn't be enough.

A few minutes later, Shane brought the baby downstairs and gently placed him on the floor. Now satisfied with a new diaper, the youngster began his morning ritual of crawling around the room in search of new objects to discover, oblivious to the chaos that radiated around him.

"It's hardly bleeding," Kat said to him. "He scraped some of her skin off but that was it."

"You're going to be just fine, sweetie," Shane said to Erin, patting her lightly on the shoulder and forcing a smile, unsure about his honesty. She nodded and sniffled, trying to please him by looking strong and stifling her tears. She remembered him telling her that she always needed to be brave when things got scary because she was a big girl now, and big girls weren't cry babies.

The look that Katharine received wasn't so encouraging; she read the concern in Shane's eyes as he looked into hers. Years of knowing him had gotten her used to that look, which was now mixed with fear. She rinsed off her daughter's arms a final time, handed her a roll of paper towels, and told her to jump down when her arms were dry and go watch TV in her room. Shane walked into the living room, his eyes beckoning Kat to follow him when she was ready.

"She needs to see a doctor," Shane whispered when Kat joined him. He kept his voice low so that the children couldn't hear. "She could be infected."

"How do you know?"

"Didn't Lynn tell you that this thing is transmitted by bites _and_ scratches?"

"Oh, yeah," Kat sighed. "Shit."

"Then she needs to be checked out ASAP. Even though it wasn't bad, it don't take much."

"That walker wasn't too far gone," Kat hoped. "He didn't even look sick except for his bite."

"Well let's hope for the best with that but I'm not taking any chances. We need to take her to the hospital."

"Oh, hell no!" Kat suddenly snapped. "I am not taking my daughter into that emergency room!"

"Are you crazy? Why?" Shane demanded. His voice and face filled with disbelief at what he had just heard.

"Because, genius, that's where all those sick people will be. Sergeant Ring said at roll call yesterday that all of the hospitals in the county are admitting them."

"And that's where all the doctors are who will know what to do. Besides, the whole point of a hospital is to house sick people and treat them."

"Are you brain dead?" Kat hissed. "At the rate this is spreading, that ER will be filled by now. It's too dangerous. What if one of them bites us while we're waiting for a room?"

"That didn't seem to concern you when you went to visit Rick after work last night," Shane challenged heatedly.

"I didn't go in through the emergency room, dumbass," Kat snarled through clenched teeth. "It's called the visitor lot. Besides, Rick's in the trauma ward, _away_ from the walkers."

"Well maybe it won't be as bad as you think," Shane tried. "The hospital Rick's at is on the opposite side of the county that Atlanta is so maybe it won't have as many people there. There's a huge population difference. Plus Atlanta has like a billion hospitals so the overflow into Harrison Memorial shouldn't be too bad."

"Lynn was a nurse at Harrison and her own patient chewed her leg off. Doesn't that say something?"

"When the ambulance brought Rick to Harrison's ER, there wasn't a single person in there!"

"And obviously things have changed quite a bit in these past few days."

"Well you can sit here and worry about it all you want but I'm taking her to get checked out."

"That's my daughter's life you're wanting to risk, and no, you're not."

"What, you think I can't protect her?"

"I didn't say that."

"So you would rather keep her here until she starts having symptoms? I know it's not rabies but what if it's a mutation of it or something? What if once symptoms start, it's untreatable?"

"Shane, there's still no cure or vaccine for this thing as it is! I watched the news last night before you came over. That same woman from the CDC that we seen on TV during roll call yesterday was on Fox News again saying that they still have no idea what it is! She said all they know is that it's viral, you get it from bites, it goes systemic within hours, and that it's fatal. Whoop-de-fucking-doo. Those idiots can't discern shit from apple butter yet they'll spend all goddamn day on TV trying to explain it!"

"It's a new disease, Kat," Shane said calmly as the baby crawled up to him and began tugging on his pant leg. He picked his son up and held him close. "It takes awhile to research stuff like that. They might not find a cure today or tomorrow but eventually they'll figure out how it works and develop vaccines at least."

"Yeah, just like they've been 'trying' to find cures for cancer and HIV for the last million years."

"You don't think they'll find a cure?"

Kat shrugged.

"For someone who believes so strongly in the power of prayer you sure as hell don't have much faith."

"Don't bring God into this."

"Well then, maybe you should."

"I have, Shane. That's why I can't help but feel like a murderer."

"Like I said, maggots don't eat living flesh and people can't be alive without any of their vital organs. That man out there, his whole abdomen was completely gone if you didn't notice."

"None of these news reporters have said that these people aren't alive. If you would have listened to the news in roll call yesterday instead of staring at the back of my head the whole fucking time, you would have heard that! That Jenner woman from the CDC that's been on Fox News described them as _diseased_, Shane, not _deceased_."

"And you believe every word that comes out of that woman's mouth?" Shane virtually yelled in frustration, realising what he had done when the baby started to cry again. "Aww I'm sorry little man," he said before turning back to Kat and lowering his voice. "Of course the government is going to cover shit up. They always do. That woman isn't going to come on national TV and tell everyone that frick'n zombies are walking around. It would throw the masses into hysteria and panic!"

"Yeah that's true I guess."

"And how do you know that the CDC or somebody else, like China or the Russians, didn't create this whole thing? How do you know this ain't some act of bioterrorism? One that has been genetically engineered or something so that it can't be cured! For all we know, this could be the work of the Zionist Occupation Government or those nutcases from the Bilderberg Group so they can rid the world of all the weak people they hate! I'm sure there's a cure somewhere, they just won't let us have it!"

"Umm Shane, let's come back to Earth now."

"I'm serious, Kat!"

"You believe what you want Shane, it doesn't matter. Whether it's the breath of God entering these people after death, or Mother Nature going through menopause, or some big conspiracy, it doesn't matter to me. Only the strong will survive this plague. That's nature—survival of the fittest. But that isn't an excuse to murder the sick people."

"Fine, whatever. I'm taking Erin to the hospital." Having had enough with the argument, Shane turned away from her and stomped irately up the stairs.

"Goddamn it, Shane!" Kat yelled as she followed him.

"I have an idea," Shane said as he put the baby back into his crib and began looking through Kat's drawers for a pair of his own jeans. "You call your dad. See if he can get us in a special room or look at Erin himself."

"Shane, my father's a forensic pathologist. He does autopsies."

"So? He has an M.D., and that says 'doctor' enough for me. Besides, if he's over there cutting these people open, he'll be able to tell you if they're dead or not."

Kat pulled her own hair, sick of arguing and beyond frustrated. "Fine, you know what? If you want this so bad, call him yourself." She walked over to her nightstand, unplugged her charging cell phone, and tossed the device onto the bed in Shane's direction. "If he says yes to any of that, great. Call work too and tell them what happened outside and that they need to send somebody out here. I'm going to go take a hot shower and at least make it look on the outside that I don't have blood on my hands."

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><p>Much to the dismay of Shane, the emergency room at Harrison Memorial Hospital was even more packed than Katharine had predicted. As she drove around the parking lot searching for a vacant spot, Shane watched as two ambulances were unloaded and a third pulled up. About fifteen people were standing outside the ER's automatic sliding doors that were tinted black, some obviously bitten and accompanied by distraught family members who held blood soaked towels over their wounds. Others seemed to be afflicted by other, more common and treatable ailments. The three security guards that stood outside monitoring the group gave off a vibe that was anything but reassuring. As the EMT's wheeled the stretchers in, Shane was able to see inside the emergency room's lobby. All of the chairs were filled. More people were standing around, trying to stay as far away from those who they didn't know as they could. Worry bothered him as the tinted doors closed behind the EMT's; he now understood why Kat had been so apprehensive about coming here.<p>

He was especially thankful that Kat had instructed his mother to keep the house locked up with the kids inside and to not answer the door for anyone other than the police when she had come to watch their three youngest children.

Kat finally found a parking spot and carefully backed her Ford Escape into it. She almost wished that she could leave the new SUV running idle in fifth gear in the event that they needed to make a quick getaway. But that wasn't how cars worked so she left it in neutral with the parking brake applied; at least if the trio did need to flee, the vehicle had been properly named for it.

Dr. Dorian Chambers, Kat's father, had agreed to pull some strings to look at Erin's cuts. He had instructed Shane to dress Erin in a long sleeve shirt to hide her wounds and bring her in through the emergency room since it contained the only lift that lead to the basement housing the hospital's morgue. He had also told Shane to ask the receptionist in the ER to page him after explaining that they were family simply visiting him for lunch.

The sneaky yet simple approach that Dr. Chambers had planned for them was all the confirmation that the two deputies needed that this plague was already out of control. At the same time, it was relieving to know that the coroner was concerned and willing to help, even if it was something outside of his medical speciality. He was a family man, much like Shane, willing to do anything for his daughter or grandchildren. They were lucky; having a hospital employee in the family gave them unofficial status and priority, even if it was unfair to all those near-zombies standing around the ER.

"Mama, I'm scared," Erin whined as they began their cautious walk from the car to the emergency room doors. She was holding Shane's hand tightly, keeping herself between the two parents who were secretly just as worried as she was. "What if they bite us?"

"I won't let that happen," Shane assured her. He watched Kat check the back of her belt to make sure that her concealed revolver was secure in its holster under her shirt.

"You stay in between us, Erin," Kat told her. "If anything scares you, we'll take care of it. Promise me you'll stay right with us and won't wander off."

"I promise," Erin said meekly.

"Ignore the sick people, too." Kat warned. "You don't look at them. You don't talk to them. Especially if they say something to you. Understand?"

"Yes, Mama."

The three security officers nodded professionally at the two deputies that they recognised from the many past medical cases that the police had been involved with. Exhaustion from undoubted overtime and stressful hours marred their faces in the form of dark bags under their eyes. Their hands remained ever close to the pistols that they wore on their belts; Shane and Kat wondered if their firearms had seen as much action as their own had in the past few days. The group that the guards were supervising watched the newcomers with looks of trepidation, worry, sadness, edginess, and ambiguity. The infected ones knew that they were going to die. They didn't need to say it for the expressions on their faces were vocal enough.

Another thirty or so people were crowded inside the noisy emergency room waiting for attention. Most of them had at least one obvious bite wound, while a few had clearly been attacked by more than one walker. As Kat, Shane, and Erin squeezed through the crowd to reach the reception desk, a bitten young man several feet in front of them keeled over and began gagging horrifically, the veins beneath his sweaty face and neck bulging with pressure as his stomach heaved in a last ditch effort to purge his body of the lethal contagion. After several seconds of retching, a red waterfall erupted from his gaping mouth, dumping over a litre of infected blood onto the pristinely waxed floor. Kat and Shane froze as they watched the dying man's stomach expel another inconceivable amount of his crimson lifeline into the puddle that spread several feet around him. Erin began sobbing in response to the shocking scene she had just witnessed, burying her face against Shane to block it out.

"Come on," Kat urged, nodding her head toward the other end of the reception area. As they began working their way through the crowd again, a nurse rushed to the vomiting man's side and helped him stand up before leading him down the hall to one of the examination rooms.

The ER's receptionist was clearly in over her head trying to answer the phones, page doctors, manage clipboards with patient history forms, and watch her own back. She didn't even notice Kat and Shane walk up to her.

"Excuse me," Kat called to the woman.

The middle-aged woman looked defeated as she glanced up at Kat, clearly irritated by yet another distraction. "Bite victims will be taken in order of severity," she said almost robotically, holding out a fresh clipboard.

"I'm not sick. I'm here to see my father," Kat barked. "We're having lunch with him. He told me to come in through the ER and have you page him to come meet us."

The receptionist looked slightly relieved as she replaced the clipboard. "What's his name?"

"Dr. Dorian Chambers," Kat answered. "He works in the morgue."

"One moment," the scatterbrained woman said. As she called Kat's father, the trio watched another ambulance roll up, siren blaring. The EMT's hurried to extract yet another bite victim from the van, and Shane recognised them as the same responders who had rushed Rick to the hospital just a few days ago.

"I can't believe this is spreading so fast," Kat said dejectedly. "Maybe I did downplay this."

"It's gonna be all right," Shane replied.

"Dr. Chambers will be up in about ten minutes," the receptionist called to them after what seemed like a ludicrously long wait. She then pointed in the direction of the hallway that the vomiting man had been taken into. "He'll probably be coming up through the elevators, so you should wait over there so he can find you."

"Thank you," Kat said before hurrying Shane and Erin in that direction. As they made their way to the lifts, they watched as a janitor came and began mopping up the spreading pool of blood. From somewhere in the crowd, a woman began crying out hysterically for help, shouting that whatever male she was with had stopped breathing. A few other infected people pushed through the crowd toward the devastated sounds, most likely to try and assist with CPR since none of the medical team seemed free to do it themselves. They may have been thinking that if they were going to die soon, they may as well finish their lives off with one last Good Samaritan deed before resurrecting into flesh eating carrions.

"Where is he?" Erin panicked as they reached the lifts.

"He's coming," Shane said with a nod. "We're all right. Just stay close to us."

As they waited, they watched another frantic nurse push a crash cart into one of the rooms. She nearly slipped over a trail of blood in the doorway that had originated from the hurling near-zombie. From another room, a gurgling noise much like the ones Mike Sommers had rasped during his attack could be heard, sending a wave of fear through Erin and her parents. A ding then came from the lift. Much to their dismay, two new security guards emerged, each carrying open unmarked boxes which they dropped against the wall between two rooms. They pulled an array of white cloth, straps, and other questionable objects from the large boxes before disappearing into the room that the death rattle was coming from.

Kat squeezed Shane's hand, seeking reassurance. She moved closer to him, feeling a bit better when she felt him stroke her hand with his thumb. She silently prayed that her father would hurry up. A minute later, the same nurse that had quickly given up on the crash cart came out to fetch more items out of the boxes for the barfing man.

The identities of the boxed items were revealed a few minutes later when the two security officers emerged on either side of a newly revivified, struggling, agitated, and restrained walker. The dead old lady had been fitted into a tightened straitjacket and a plastic biter mask to prevent her from spreading the infection.

"They aren't killing them," Kat observed sombrely as the guards escorted the belligerent zombie down the hall. "They're going to wait for a cure." She lowered her head, now feeling even guiltier about destroying the walkers from earlier.

Shane pulled Kat protectively against him and rubbed her shoulder. "If they did kill them, could you imagine all of the lawsuits this hospital would have?"

"I know," Kat sighed. "But this just makes me feel worse."

"Try not to think about it, hun. At least we know there won't be any waking up downstairs in the morgue."

"That's true."

"Isn't that what they did to Hannibal?" Erin randomly asked, pointing to the elderly walker as her and her escorts disappeared into what they assumed to be a quarantine room.

"Yes," Kat said hesitantly. She glared up at Shane. "I take it you let her watch that?"

"It was on TV one night when she was at my house," Shane admitted with a shrug.

The security guards re-emerged from the quarantined area and power walked back in their direction. They peeked into the room containing the now deceased barfing man. One continued inside to assist the nurse with the restraints while he was still departed. The other located an available gurney and wheeled it into the room.

"Your dad wasn't too thrilled when I called him," Shane whispered in Kat's ear. "Asked why I had let her roam around outside with this disease going around and told me I'm a shitty father."

"It's both our faults," Kat said quietly. "We should have woken up early to tell them to stay inside."

"Am I a shitty father?" Shane asked, knowing that he was going to get an honest answer whether he liked it or not.

"No, Shane," Kat replied. "Except when you're letting your kids see R rated horror flicks about psychopathic cannibals that they are way too young to be watching. When you're not doing that, you're a better father than anyone else I know, even Rick."

"You really mean that?"

"Yeah," Kat chuckled. "But don't ever tell him I said that."

"Wasn't planning on it."

"I know I dumped you, but I'm really glad that you're the father of my kids. Even little Erin here. You've done more for her than her biological father ever did. He never played with her, never took care of her beyond the minimal, and spent more time restoring cars than he did paying attention to her. Not many men out there are willing to raise another man's children without discriminating against them. Most men favour their own kids over the ones they didn't create. You don't do that."

"I love all my children equally," Shane said. "I can't imagine not having my kids. I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost them."

Kat opened her mouth to reply but was cut off when Erin turned around and wrapped her arms around Shane's waist, giving him a bit smile while she hugged him. "Shane's the bestest daddy ever!"

"Aww, thanks sweetie." He turned to Kat and smiled, wishing once more she would just commit to spending the rest of her life with him. Yet again, he was confused by her. She always dodged the subject of marriage when it came up, yet she still wore her old wedding ring and kept framed photographs of her dead husband on the walls of her living room. Some of which were right beside family pictures of Kat with Shane and their family. She wasn't interested in marrying him or even living with him, yet here she was telling him that he was the best father in the world right after they had broken up. Shane wished she would get over it. He wished she would want to get back together. He wished she would take that damn ring off. He wished she would let him put the one on her finger that he had bought four years ago.

The two security guards emerged once more. On the gurney was the lifeless body of the vomiting man. His face, which was also muzzled, was almost as white as the straitjacket they had wrapped him in. As they wheeled him down the hall, Shane and Kat noticed that he had passed away with his eyes open. Those eyes were already glassy, an early sign that his zombification was underway.

Finally, the lift opened and out stepped Kat's father. Dr. Chambers was a tall, well groomed, black haired man dressed in his typical white scientist coat and waterproof boots. Kat broke away from Shane to give him a relieved hug, thankful that he had finally arrived and was willing to secretly examine her daughter.

"Are you both all right?" the forensic pathologist asked as Erin joined in the hug.

"I hope so," Kat replied sceptically. "Thank you so much for being willing to check her arms out."

"Anything for my little girl," Dorian said. His icy blue eyes then turned toward Shane, reminding him without words that he didn't approve of his unmarried relationship with Kat.

Yet another wave of panic erupted in the congested emergency room when somebody's bitten sister suddenly lost her battle with the fever.

"Get in," the coroner ordered, shepherding the trio into the lift. "It's too chaotic and dangerous in here."

"No shit," Katharine muttered under her breath.

"You watch your mouth," her father warned as he stepped in behind them. He shoved a small key into the lift's control panel then turned it while simultaneously pressing the button for floor "B2."

"Sorry, Dad," Kat grumbled, rolling her eyes.

"I heard about your friend Lynn," Dorian said softly, turning to face his daughter as the lift gave them a gentle bump before beginning its descent. "I am sorry for your loss, Katharine. She was a great nurse in her short time here at Harrison Memorial Hospital. May she rest in peace."

"Thank you," Kat said faintly with a nod. "I can't help but feel like I could have done something different, like her death was entirely my fault."

Dorian nodded, allowing Kat to ponder whether he agreed with her or simply couldn't find the right words. After a long pause, he finally spoke. "She was quite active in assisting both the pathology team and myself with research on this new disease. Her contributions have helped us immensely. Now it is time for Mrs. Sommers to dwell happily in the house of the Lord."

"You've been studying this?" Shane asked, earning himself another evil eye.

"Of course," Dorian replied as the lift completed its trip and opened into the hospital's morgue. Erin scrunched her nose up when the odour of formaldehyde entered her nostrils, but she knew what it was from previous visits. "Pathology and some of our brighter nurses have been investigating the causes, symptoms, and effects that this disease has on those who are stricken by it. Since the transmission and parasitic aspects of this disease continue after what we suspect to be death, it is up to coroners to figure out why and how so that this malady can be understood and ultimately cured. That is where I come in. I have been hired by the Centres for Disease Control and Prevention to do concurrent post-mortem research on this disease at Saint Joseph's Research Hospital in Atlanta. Doctors from around the globe are uniting to try and find a solution to this pandemic due to its record breaking rate of spread."

"So they _are_ dead?" Kat asked hopefully.

"We will discuss that later," Dorian alleged sharply. He guided the group into his large office and hoisted Erin up onto one of his many desks. "For now, we need to get her checked out."

"I don't want to see the dead people," Erin whined.

"You won't. Most of them are all in freezers, out of sight. Just don't venture into the autopsy area."

"Eww, I won't."

"That's a good girl." Dorian picked up a tiny bowl containing an oblong, solid white tablet and a capsule that was white and orange. He handed the dish, along with a cup of water, to Erin. "Here, take these."

"Okay."

"What are those?" Kat asked.

"A sedative and an antiviral," Dorian answered as he watched Erin work the pills down her throat. "The hospital is sedating patients that come in with symptoms of the pandemic due to the aggressive behaviours they eventually present with when they . . . wake up from their fever. Although none of the standard antiviral medications have shown any improvement, I figured it would be better than nothing in case she is infected."

"I don't really like the idea of her taking a sedative," Shane remarked.

"It's mild," Dorian said with a shrug. "It will make her drowsy, is all."

"All right I guess," he grumbled.

"So I can take a nap?" Erin asked.

"That would be great. You will need to keep your body as rested as you possibly can just in case. Now let me look at your arms."

Erin pushed her sleeves up and held her arms out for the doctor of death to inspect. He did a quick visual on the wounds before murmuring something inaudible under his breath while nodding. He then fetched a handful of cotton medical swabs and a bottle of sterile water.

"Is this gonna hurt?" Erin asked shyly.

"Nope," Dr. Chambers assured her. He removed one of the swabs from its sealed wrapper, moistened it with the water, and ran it along the length of one of her scratches. "I will need to take a sample of your blood though."

"With a needle?"

"Yes," Dorian confirmed, repeating the sampling process over another cut with a fresh swab.

"Aww man," the little girl complained.

"She's afraid of needles," Shane commented.

"I figured," Dorian muttered.

"I washed her cuts with iodine soap," Kat cut in before her father could pick on Shane.

"If the virus is in her bloodstream, there will be traces of the infection in her scabs," Dorian said. As if on cue, he spent a few extra seconds running a third swab over a small line of dried blood.

"What are the chances that she's contracted the illness?" Kat asked.

"High," Dorian said flatly, ignoring the paranoid look that Erin quickly developed on her face. "How long before _he_ called me did this happen?"

"Like ten minutes or so," Kat alleged. "The walker who got her looked like he had just resurrected . . . woken up . . . whatever you want to call it."

"Were his hands still clean? Free of blood?"

"Looked like it."

"Then she may have gotten lucky. During a meeting with Pathology this morning, I learned that a patient at Piedmont Hospital had been nipped on the hand by an individual who had woken up only a few minutes prior to the attack. He was able to pry his fingers away before any serious damage could be done. He sprayed his own hand with Lysol just before the blood pushed its way up through his broken skin. Stuff must have worked because he arrived at the hospital over five hours after he'd been bitten, still symptom-free aside from some nausea caused by his understandable fear. Either that or it was a dry bite. Blood sample came back negative for the virus. They kept him under observation for an extra hour and released him. He was extremely fortunate."

Shane and Kat allowed themselves to breathe sighs of relief and feel a bit more hope after hearing the story.

"How long after an attack do symptoms begin?" Shane asked.

"That depends on the individual, the location of the bite, and how many bites they received," Dorian explained as he continued sampling. "Some have been chewed so badly that they bleed to death within minutes. Those who survive the being bitten part, well, like I said, it depends. Children and the elderly seem to be presenting with symptoms much sooner than, say, heavy set people and healthy adults. People with bites that are on or near major blood vessels succumb very quickly; their symptoms typically start within just a few hours. Pathology said that some people with scratches or more minor bites are showing up with symptoms that began twelve or more hours after they were attacked."

Dr. Chambers paused briefly to fetch the supplies he needed to draw blood.

"So at least at the moment, nobody has any idea what the standard incubation period for this disease is. All we know is that the virus reproduces and spreads _fast_. Faster than any pathogen currently known. Since this whole outbreak began less than a week ago, we have more questions than we have answers, even with doctors all over the world researching it. Seems like whenever we answer one question, a billion more spring to mind."

"Maybe you can help us answer a few of ours," Kat hoped.

"I can try," Dorian offered as he began prepping Erin for the blood draw. "I will take her blood sample up to Pathology to have an antibody test done. Despite how fast these contagions attack, we have noticed that our bodies begin to create antibodies right away to fight the infection. We just can't seem to produce them as quickly or efficiently as we need to in order to keep up and overcome the virus before it overwhelms us."

Erin's eyes welled up with tears when she saw the needle that her grandfather was about to stick into her arm. Seeing this, Shane instinctively went up to his adopted daughter and gave her a reassuring hug.

"It's all right," he comforted. "He's gotta do this so we can make sure you're okay."

"But needles hurt," Erin snivelled.

"It won't be too bad. Besides what did I tell you about being a big girl? No tears."

Erin nodded and wiped her eyes with her bunched up sleeve. Reluctantly, she held her arm out and let the doctor begin the procedure. Despite wanting to be brave, she couldn't bring herself to watch and hid her face against Shane's chest, silently cringing as her blood was drawn.

"All done," Dorian announced a minute later.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Shane asked.

Erin shook her head, pressing her lips together in disgust as her grandfather taped a cotton ball onto the inside of her arm.

"You took it like a champ," Shane praised, hoping it would make the little blonde girl feel better.

"I'm going to run these up to Pathology," Dorian said quickly before heading toward the lift. "Wait here, I won't be long."

"Am I going to die?" Erin asked. It broke both of her parents' hearts to hear it from their child, who was so youthful, innocent, and still full of life.

"No," Kat said firmly, believing that it was a lie.

Satisfied for the moment, Erin hopped off of the desk and sat in the death doctor's leather office chair. She leaned back in it, trying to get comfortable as the effects of her sedative began to crawl through her bloodstream. "How long is this gonna take?"

"It'll be awhile," Shane answered. "Close your eyes and try to rest a bit."

The drowsy girl nodded and obeyed, hoping she would wake up to good news.

Shane noticed how on edge Katharine seemed to be. He pulled her into one of his protective hugs, allowing himself to smile when she rested her forehead on his shoulder.

"We're gonna get through this," he said softly in her ear.

"Shane, I'm so worried," she whispered.

"Me too."

"I can't believe I let them go outside."

"I feel just as horrible, Kat."

"From now on our kids stay in the house at all times and we don't let them out of our sights unless they are with someone we trust who can protect them from the infected people."

"I agree. I think for now we need to fire your ditzy eighteen year old babysitter and have them stay with your uncle while we're at work."

"Good idea." Kat's uncle, who was also Dorian's identical twin, had been a soldier on the front lines during the early years of the Afghan War. "I think we should stick together as much as possible until this blows over too."

"We? As in me 'n you?"

"Yeah."

"I like that idea," Shane thought aloud with a rather excited grin that Kat couldn't see.

"Figures . . ."

"I know you love me, Kitty Kat. I just wish you'd say it in those words."

"Here we go again . . ."

"You know it's true. Your love is all I need in my life."

"Shane, I'm going to start calling you Anakin."

Shane chuckled. "Why?"

"Cuz you're a hopeless romantic, just like him."

"All right then, I'm gonna call you Padmé."

"Don't even suggest that we rename our twins Luke and Leia," Kat laughed. "And at least I didn't die in childbirth."

"We should. And by the way, she died of a broken heart."

"Mmhmm."

"She did, I'm serious! Go watch the movie again if you don't believe me."

"Oh, I know. She was an idiot. I'm just thinking about how I'm way tougher than Padmé."

"That you are."

"And you're just like Anakin—completely controlled by your emotions."

"I am not."

"Umm, yeah, you are."

"Well I will tell you one thing. If I ever lost you and our kids, I would definitely go all Darth Vader on the world." Shane cupped his hands over his mouth and began mocking the sounds of the fictional cyborg's mechanical respirator.

"That wouldn't surprise me a bit," Kat giggled. "But don't worry, after losing a husband and popping out four kids I think the least of my concerns is dying in childbirth or of a broken heart."

"Then what's it going to take to get you to say you love me? Because I know you do."

"Umm . . ."

"Is being on the brink of death what it's gonna take for you to say it? Just like how Padmé only told Anakin that she loved him cuz she thought she was about to be executed by a bunch of flesh-eating aliens?"

_Screwed herself over with that move, didn't she?_ was the thought that Kat wanted to speak before the lift dinged and her father emerged. She was relieved by his arrival.

"Got that stuff dropped off," the medical examiner announced. "They agreed to keep quiet about her being down here."

"Thank God."

"How long will it take to get the results?"

"Few hours, I would assume," Dorian admitted. "They've got so many samples up there to run, and with her being asymptomatic at the moment, they will probably put hers at the bottom of the pile."

The worried parents nodded, wishing that the statement had been more in their favour. But they both knew that they had no room to complain.

"But they said they will page me when the testing is complete. If you want me to call you when they're in, I will."

"That would be fine," Kat agreed. "Before we leave, could you tell us what you know about this plague? We feel that the CDC and the news are keeping the details from the public."

"They are," Dorian confirmed with an exaggerated sulk. "They are trying to prevent mass panic, of course. But since this virus is so new, the knowledge we've acquired would be considered minimal at best because we haven't had the time to properly study it. If this rate of spread keeps up, and I can already tell it will, we may have another bubonic plague on our hands."

"But this isn't the Black Death," Kat noted.

"More like the Walking Death," Shane commented.

"No, but it will be synonymous to it as far as the death toll goes, just a different pathogen. The bubonic plague was bacterial. This is viral."

"What can you tell us about it?" Kat asked. "What are the news stations keeping from us?"

Dorian waved the couple out of the room and quietly shut the door to his office. "We'll let her sleep," he said softly, referring to Erin who was now slumbering from her sedative. In reality, he wanted to be cautious; if she were infected, the malady could swiftly take hold of her thin form.

Shane and Kat were lead into the autopsy room. Inside, a partially dissected male cadaver laid spread eagle over a stainless steel examination table. A large Y-incision had been made, exposing his entrails which had been preserved; the reek of fresh formaldehyde was apparent. The top half of his skull had been removed and his brain extracted from its casing. Five or six deep bite wounds disfigured his neck and shoulders where chunks of flesh had been brutally ripped away. The shape of the bites and patterns of teeth indicated that they had been made by a human mouth.

"They're calling it walker fever," Dorian began, introducing the virus as he pulled on a fresh pair of latex gloves. "Though I do like the idea of calling it the Walking Death because that's exactly what it is."

Before the two deputies could spit out more questions, Dorian began poking around and manipulating the cadaver's organs, continuing his explanation as he did so.

"This individual was bitten, as you can see. What the CDC and other doctors around the world have discovered is that the infected saliva is deposited into the flesh when the original host's teeth penetrate the skin. In a way, it acts as venom. The saliva of an infected host contains mass amounts of virions, probably more than enough to kill the person even if they didn't attack cells and reproduce. The virus particles enter the bloodstream and begin to multiply in red blood cells, causing rapid septicaemia."

"Septicaemia?" Shane asked. His knowledge of hardcore medical terminology was limited.

"When the bloodstream becomes fully infected by a disease," Dorian defined. "This in turn leads to the virus invading all of our organs. The immune system soon kicks in, resulting in a fever. And as we know, our bodies create fevers when we're sick because antibodies are produced faster and more efficiently at higher temperatures, while most pathogens die at elevated temperatures. Microbiologists at the CDC have discovered that the virus invades the subarachnoid space in the central nervous system, giving it access to the brain and spinal cord. It is the same thing we see in cases of bacterial meningitis."

"Lynn said that this is a lot like rabies," Kat cut in. "Could this be a mutation of the rabies virus?"

"It is similar, but no. When patients started coming in with bite wounds, extreme fevers, aches, delirium, et cetera, people initially suspected rabies. But over the past few days, we now know that it is still too different to be a new form of rabies. While both are transmitted by bites or scratches, rabies travels to the brain via the peripheral nerves and has an extremely slow incubation period. This goes through the blood stream and generally acts fast, based on the individual as I stated before. The virus has spread across the globe too fast to be an epidemic of rabies."

"Then where did it come from?" Kat asked.

"That part we don't know yet. My guess is that it is completely new. Evolution or mutation of a current virus _is_ possible, but I get the feeling that this could be synthetic."

"Bioterrorism," Shane commented, almost to himself.

"I have no proof of the theory," Dorian added. "But this could be manmade."

"By who?"

"I have no idea."

"Well that's just great," Kat muttered, rolling her eyes.

"I'm sure we will know in time," Dorian assured. He seemed confident enough.

"You would think someone would have an idea of who could be making this," she added.

"That's why I'm not really pursuing the theory," Dorian said flatly. "The first case of this virus was in Haiti. Nobody is going to plant something in a country that poor if they want to attack an enemy nation, and Haiti sure doesn't have the resources or the motive to create a virus. On that same note, no one would start a pandemic that is bound to go global and threaten their own nation's health and welfare. This plague has shown up in 18 countries so far, and it's only been six days since the first case."

The coroner took a scalpel and began cutting out one of the cadaver's lungs. Kat and Shane observed black streaks and spots over the organs, indicating that the man had been a chain smoker in life.

"The virus goes septic and affects all organs, including the brain. All organs begin to shut down, starting with the least important. The last to go are the heart, lungs, and brain. Ultimately though, the fever is what kills the patient. A 'safe' fever is one below 104°F. Pathology said that most of them are dying when their fevers progress past 106°F. Antipyretic medications have shown little to no effect on reducing the fevers."

"So the fever does what?" Kat asked. "Burns the brain up?"

"When it gets that high, it denatures a person's enzymes," Dorian elaborated, slightly pleased by the ever confused and ignorant look on Shane's face. "In laymen terms, it makes certain proteins in the brain fall apart. Once that happens, they can't be put back together. This results in irreversible brain damage and in the case of our mystery virus, ultimately death. So in a way, your brain fries like an egg."

"That's a horrible way to die," Shane grumbled, hoping like none other for the continued healthiness of his adopted daughter.

"Experimentation for alternative cooling methods is underway," Dorian added.

"So what happens after the _death_ part?" Kat asked, unable to withhold the question any longer.

A look of hesitation crossed Dorian's pale face as he plopped the dark tainted organ into a metal bowl and placed it on a scale. "The virus somehow brings you back to life."

"And?"

"Well, we don't really know much about it."

"I figured that much," Kat huffed. "Can you tell us any more than that?"

"The problem is that when the diseased individual wakes up, they are extremely aggressive and dangerous, as you've witnessed. That makes it tremendously hard to conduct research on them. What we do know is that the virus affects everyone differently, even in death. Some people are waking up mere minutes after they are pronounced dead. Others have gone several hours. We don't know what it is about the virus that causes them to wake up. It defies our current understanding of medicine, virology, and human physiology."

"What I don't understand is how someone can die, begin the process of decomposition, wake up with hunger and functional senses, walk around, breathe, and still continue to rot away."

"It's something in the virus, Katharine. We just don't know what it is yet. The theory at the moment is that the virus continues to replicate itself inside the cells after they die, using the natural processes of death to do so. How or why, or if that's even what's going on, I have no idea."

Kat could tell that her father was frustrated by not knowing the answers based on his tone of voice.

"This man that I'm dissecting right now donated his body to science. I thank God that he did; maybe I will be able to stumble upon an answer down here."

"Did he . . . wake up? Before you took his brain out?"

"No," Dorian sighed. "He had a Do Not Resuscitate order. When he was dying, he wrote out a will. In it, he said that he wished to be autopsied right away. We brought him down here immediately after he passed. We removed his brain before the virus had a chance to wake him up."

"Lynn said that destroying the brain stops them from waking up," Kat thought aloud. "Is that true? The ones that we've dealt with so far only went down when their brains were destroyed."

"It is true," Dorian confirmed as he sliced open the tarry lung. Inside, he found an abnormally high volume of mucus. "No human can function or survive with a severely damaged brain, and we believe the virus needs the brain to be fully functional. The brain is responsible for our movements, our breathing, our heartbeats, and our hunger. It seems like these rotting people come back to life with only basic instincts."

"Dad, I need to know something. Are they dead?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like I understand that the fever kills them. But when they come back, are they alive again? Or are they still dead?"

Dorian froze, looking at her with cold blue eyes.

"I shot and killed some. Bashed in the heads of two more today to protect Erin. I need to know if I murdered people or if I can go on knowing that my conscience is clear."

Kat's father sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to say. Shane had neglected to mention the baseball bat part on the phone.

"Katharine, you need to go to confession."

"They _are_ alive?" Kat whined, instantly overwhelmed with guilt.

"It's debatable at best," Dorian admitted. "But either way, you need to confess to the Lord. He is your saviour."

"Dad, how can you say that this is debatable? A person is either alive or dead, they can't be sort of dead or kind of alive."

"I shouldn't be telling you this, but I will anyway because of your job and because you're my daughter. What I'm about to tell you two doesn't leave the room, understood?"

Shane and Kat both nodded quickly, eager to hear.

"An anonymous brain surgeon in Michigan has been conducting under the table research on his mistress who was bitten and subsequently died of the infection," Dorian summarised grudgingly. "He's been blogging his findings in a private medical forum that I belong to. His posts include video recordings and photos of his observations. This doctor has had her hooked up to an EEG since before she died Thursday night. The woman was dead for over five and a half hours before the virus woke her up. She was also in rigor mortis."

"An EEG is the thing that monitors brain waves or whatever, right?" Shane asked.

Dorian nodded. "There was no EEG activity during the five and a half hours that she was deceased. Someone who has entered rigor mortis cannot be resuscitated. Complete brain death occurs about ten minutes after someone dies if CPR is not conducted. She was as dead as dead can be." Dorian paused for a moment to scribble some notes about the lung onto a piece of paper and take some photographs of it.

"Then what?" Kat asked.

"After the five and a half hours, the EEG began to detect very minute brain waves in the brainstem and parts of the cerebellum. The signals strengthened, but they were exceedingly abnormal. The cerebrum remained dead."

"What does that mean?"

"The cerebrum is the higher brain," Dorian explained, forgetting again that his company were not medical professionals. "It's where our soul is, our personality, our memories, our lives. It's where our spirits are connected to our bodies."

"So they really are zombies," Shane concluded.

"I don't like that word," Dorian snapped. "But if you must be grotesque, yes. The brain surgeon reported that his mistress also began to breathe again, presenting with a distinct death rattle. Her skeletal muscles also began working again, with poor coordination. That was all he was able to conclude about the organs outside of the nervous system."

"How has he managed to keep that EEG connected and prevent himself from being attacked?" Kat wondered.

Dorian tensed again, cringing before providing an answer. "The woman became violent," he said forcefully. "Before he could continue studying her body, he was forced to . . . decapitate her."

Shane and Kat's eyebrows rose with surprise. If the fact that the man had found the balls to start the research on his own mistress wasn't shocking enough, the revelation that he had also found it within himself to cut her head off was a bombshell.

"He still has her head hooked up to that EEG as far as I know," Dorian said almost deprecatingly as he began cutting out the cadaver's other lung. "And that's because her head is still alive."

"How is that possible?"

Dorian shrugged. "When I have an answer to that, I'll be sure to let you know. But it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that an alive person cannot survive with just a head."

"I can't believe this is happening," Kat reflected. "This all seems so unbelievable. Like something out of a cheesy horror movie."

"Well, it's real."

* * *

><p>Later that afternoon, Shane and Kat still had not heard back from Dr. Chambers about Erin's blood test, and their worries were mounting significantly. They had left the little girl with the doctor of death and could only hope and pray that nothing bad had happened to either Erin or Dorian. Of course, the forensic pathologist was busy. He had advised them before sending them on their way that he had several meetings that afternoon, but they couldn't help their impatience.<p>

The broken couple eventually packed their other three children into Shane's Jeep and decided to return to the hospital to visit Rick in an effort to keep their minds off of Erin and to check his welfare. Their best friend was still in the coma, showing little signs of improvement but luckily his condition had not regressed to anything worse. Lori and Carl had both been there keeping him company, much to Katharine's surprise. While Carl had been excited to see his father's co-workers and their young children stop by, Lori had remained silent past the typical small talk and ritualistic greetings.

Their visit had been cut short by a nurse who had come in to clean Rick up and change his bandages. Curious about Erin, Shane and Kat braved the visitor lounge to ask about Dorian's whereabouts. Luckily, it was much emptier than the emergency room had been, and the people who were idling around had still managed to evade the walkers. The receptionist there informed them that Dorian was en route to the CDC for a meeting with the scientists there. She was kind enough to let the worried parents know that their sedated daughter had been taken with him, but she didn't know anything about the status of her blood work.

Knowing that it would probably still be several hours before Dorian contacted them, Shane and Kat decided to leave and take the long way home. They listened to music and chattered about Rick for awhile, sharing their concerns and reciting stories of fond memories of him.

"Why do you think the emergency room is keeping the walkers alive?" Kat pondered after awhile.

"Ethical reasons, probably. Human rights or, like I said earlier, to prevent lawsuits, I assume."

"Do you mind taking me to my church for a little bit?" Kat asked.

"Why?"

Kat shrugged. "I want to light a candle for Rick and maybe see if my godfather is around. I haven't seen him in awhile. Plus I think Jesus and I need to have a little chat."

Shane chuckled. "Okay."

Silence eventually grew between them as Shane and Katharine listened to the latter's mix CD. In the back seat, the twins and the baby had all dozed off, something they often did while riding in Shane's noisy Jeep Wrangler.

An eerie song soon began to play, one that Shane didn't recognise. He turned up the volume a bit to better hear its low tones over the wind that slammed into the Jeep as he drove. He began to feel a bit uneasy as a female with a dark alto voice uttered the piece's first word.

_"Zombie . . ."_

He cranked the volume just a bit more, thinking he had misheard the ghostly lyric.

_"Zombie . . ."_

The word drew him in, due in part to how the word directly related to the crazy route the world seemed to be taking. But Shane suspected that the singer, whose voice he had never heard before, wasn't going to be literally singing about the risen dead.

_"I'm in love with a zombie  
><em>_He can't keep his hands off me  
><em>_I think he's looking at me  
><em>_But he's looking right through me . . ."_

Again, Shane felt as if he was being spoken to by whatever music artist he was hearing. The song had barely begun but he was already sucked into the creepy, yet obviously seductive gravitational pull that the symbolic melody had on him.

"_You think you're so cool boy  
><em>_Blood rushing through my veins now  
><em>_Do you want me for my body?  
><em>_Do you want me for my brain, brain, brain, brain?  
><em>_I'm in love with a zombie boy  
><em>_I'm in love with a zombie boy  
><em>_I'm in love with a zombie boyyyy  
><em>_But his heart is so cold . . .  
><em>_I'm in love with a zombie boy  
><em>_I'm in love with a zombie boy  
><em>_I'm in love with a zombie boyyyy  
><em>_But is heart is so cold . . .  
><em>_Cold, cold, freezing, freezing  
><em>_Got my heart beating, beating  
><em>_Cold, cold, freezing, freezing  
><em>_Got my heart bleeding, bleeding."_

Shane glanced over at Kat, wondering what her response would be to the song that she had obviously heard before. She was spacing out, staring over the rolling plains without seeing them; the empty look in her eyes matched that of the zombified Markus Cuddigan that he had encountered earlier in the day. The flicker of a flashback that played out over Kat's face wasn't necessary to make Shane realise that the woman he loved was in her own way, one of them. Perhaps the song was trying to tell him something. Perhaps it was trying to warn him of what was to come.

"_I'm in love with a zombie  
><em>_When he put his hands on me  
><em>_Sent chills through my body  
><em>_But then he don't call me."_

Perhaps Katharine Burke already symbolised a zombie. Perhaps her feelings were so deeply suppressed that she could no longer remember where she had drawn that secret X that marked the spot under which her emotional treasure chest was buried. Perhaps the flashbacks and the music was prophesising that it was Kat's destiny to become one, or perhaps they were messages from some higher power that it was up to Shane to save her from her own self before she literally became a walker.

"_And I know that he like me  
><em>_Cuz he chasing me nightly  
><em>_And I want him to bite me  
><em>_Cuz I know I'm gonna like-ee, like-ee, like-ee, like-ee"_

Perhaps by saving Katharine from the zombie she had become, Shane would also prevent himself from turning into one. Because he knew that he sure as hell couldn't take much more of this.

"_I'm in love with a zombie boy  
><em>_I'm in love with a zombie boy  
><em>_I'm in love with a zombie boyyyy  
><em>_But his heart is so cold . . ."_

_If only this was being sung by a man about a woman he loved, it would be the story of my life,_ Shane thought to himself as his pondering continued.

"_I'm in love with a zombie boy  
><em>_I'm in love with a zombie boy  
><em>_I'm in love with a zombie boyyyy  
><em>_But his heart is so cold"_

"I'm in love with a zombie girrrrl, but her heart is so cold . . ." Shane echoed softly, still glancing over at Kat who had separated herself from her spacey trance just long enough to look over at him before returning to it. It was enough to let Shane know that she was listening, but as the blank stare clouded her features once again, he was unable to tell just what she was thinking.

"_Cold, cold, freezing, freezing  
><em>_Got my heart beating, beating  
><em>_Cold, cold, freezing, freezing  
><em>_Got my heart bleeding, bleeding  
><em>_Cold, cold, freezing, freezing  
><em>_Got my heart beating, beating  
><em>_Cold, cold, freezing, freezing  
><em>_Got my heart bleeding, bleeding"_

_What is she thinking right now? _Shane wondered as he continued to sing along, picking up the chorus as the song progressed. His soft voice made a nice duet with the low alto coming through his speakers. _Why did she put this song on her mix tape?_

"_Baby all I want is an answer  
><em>_When I walk past ya  
><em>_Why ya gotta act like I'm Casper?  
><em>_Every boy wanna know, irresistible, kissable  
><em>_But you think I'm the invisible girl"_

Unbeknownst to Shane, Kat was over there mentally comparing him to a hungry walker. Love hungry, but still hungry, she felt that his possessive, obsessive love for her was just as insatiable as the hunger for flesh that tormented the walking dead. She thought that it had to be a mental illness, one analogous to the physical ailment that afflicted the poor, rotting people that she had been forced to execute. Or maybe it was more of an addiction.

"_Keep it down low  
><em>_We be creeping, freaking  
><em>_Got me feeling oh so ah-ah-ah-ah  
><em>_Try to keep cool, my heart beating  
><em>_Your heart freezing  
><em>_But I still want ya-ah-ah-ah"_

Perhaps they were both addicted to each other. Shane, in his love addiction to her, always in pursuit of that fulfilling high that would ultimately bring him to a state of completeness with a woman who loved him back and a family where love was unconditional. Katharine, in her defunct, self-induced numbness, always seeking to remain separated from emotions and reality where life was easier but blind. He had convinced himself that Katharine loved him despite her neglectful actions and crude words. She had convinced herself that she couldn't despite the fact that she just couldn't seem to push Shane away without letting him come right back.

_"I'm in love with a zombie boy  
><em>_I'm in love with a zombie boy  
><em>_I'm in love with a zombie boyyyy  
><em>_But his heart is so cold . . ."_

The half of a zombie that Shane represented was the persistent, dangerous, and ravenous flesh-eating carnivore. The half of a zombie that Katharine represented was the mindless, empty, decaying, soulless body.

_"I'm in love with a zombie boy  
><em>_I'm in love with a zombie boy  
><em>_I'm in love with a zombie boy  
><em>_But his heart is so cold . . ."_

Yet a zombie couldn't exist without both symbiotic halves of its diseased nature. If Shane was the zombie's Yin, then Kat was its Yang.

_"Cold, cold, freezing, freezing . . .  
><em>_Cold, cold . . ."_

Two halves of a whole, and subconsciously, they both knew it.

_"Cold, cold, freezing, freezing . . .  
><em>_Cold, cold . . ."  
><em>

* * *

><p>The remodelled Catholic Church that Kat occasionally attended was abnormally vacant, much to her surprise. Usually around this time of day, the shrine was bustling with sinners seeking forgiveness, church school class attendees, and confessors. But she didn't complain, for it gave her more privacy and peace as she meditated over the seven-day candle that she had lit for Rick. She also prayed for her daughter's life, for the souls of her friends that were lost, and for her own forgiveness. Many times during her prayer, Shane's image popped into her head; she eventually gave in and began praying for guidance in that aspect of her life as well.<p>

The soft sound of footsteps behind her brought Kat out of her preoccupied trance.

"I thought I might find you in here," the voice of her godfather called as he walked into the candle room.

Kat stood from her kneeling position and turned to face the white-haired exorcist that she had known since childhood. "Long time, no see, Father Anthony," she said with a smile.

"Where have you been, Katharine? You haven't been to mass in weeks."

"Eh, you know, four days on duty, three days off. Makes it impossible to have consistent weekends." It was a valid excuse. Kat hugged the priest who was dressed in his traditional black robes. "How did you know I was in here?"

"I saw your man outside with your children," the priest frowned. "I couldn't help but notice the lack of a ring on his finger, still."

Kat rolled her eyes. "I know, I'm going to Hell. I've got my one-way train ticket already paid for."

Father Anthony chuckled. "You know, there is still time to turn that ticket in and get a refund."

"That's true," Kat laughed. Her smile quickly faltered, replaced with a newfound seriousness. "Shane and I broke up the other day."

"Why, child?"

"It just wasn't working out, and my feelings aren't cooperating. I just can't love him," Kat murmured. "I came here hoping I could find answers and comfort. Not only about Shane, but also the fever that's going around."

"Did you find peace with the Lord, Katharine?"

Kat shrugged. "He's been just as silent as always. But I figured if I'm going to ask somebody about people dying and coming back to life, Jesus would be the man to go to. Been there, done that. He would know, right?"

"You're funny, Kat," the priest tittered. They began walking out of the candle room and into the main area where masses were held. "Rest assured knowing that the Lord has heard your prayer. When He's ready, He will present the answers to you."

"Soon, I hope."

"Time will tell."

"Is this the beginning of The Apocalypse?" Kat asked as they walked between the rows of pews toward the large glass exit doors. She looked out and saw Shane and their kids on the church's small playground. The baby was busy exploring the sand that surrounded the playground's structures. The twins were playing a game of hide-and-seek with Shane, who had ducted down atop an intricate wooden staircase that spiralled almost as much as the slide that it led up to.

"Yes," the priest replied. "At least, I believe so. The dead have risen, just as the Bible says they would."

Kat nodded and watched as her thirteen month old son uncovered an unidentifiable object from the sand that was probably a piece of garbage. The twins crawled up the slide backwards, giggling loudly as they snuck up on their father. When they found him, Shane jumped up and acted ridiculously surprised, then skidded down the slide on his feet with his laughing kids in hot pursuit. When the little black haired toddler saw his father, he picked up his new piece of worthless treasure and began crawling off in Shane's direction with it, no doubt with the intent of proudly presenting it to his father as a gift.

Kat hadn't noticed the wide smile that had crept across her face as she watched her family run around in innocent fun.

"You do love him." The soft spoken voice of Father Anthony brought Kat out of her trance.

"What?"

"You love him," he repeated. "I can see it in your eyes. That twinkle they get when you watch him playing with your children. I see it in your eyes every time he's with you. That's what people look like when they're in love. Especially when they smile the way you were smiling just now. Back in the old days, before I became an exorcist, I performed marriages. That was the look on the faces of all the young couples I united."

"Umm . . ." Kat droned stupidly, unable to think of a rebuttal.

"Look inside yourself, Katharine. The Lord wants you to open your heart up and take the risk of lowering that wall you've built up. You've been with Shane for six years. You have children with him. Admitting to yourself that you love him and opening your heart up to him are long overdue."

"But my husband . . ."

"Your husband has passed on, Kat. He wouldn't want you to continue your mortal journey alone."

"I feel that I would be betraying him if I let it go."

"No, Kat. You wouldn't be. I know you never really loved him. I remember everything you told me about your emotionless marriage. But I can see it in your soul, through your very eyes, that you love that man out there." The priest nodded toward the playground just as Shane began chasing his squealing twins in a giant circle around the monkey bars, attempting to nab them in a game of tag.

Kat sighed deeply, lowering her head to look at the floor. The sparkle of her wedding ring caught her eye. She had not taken the ring off since she had been forced to marry the man who she always knew in her heart that she'd never truly loved. On top of that, she was exhausted by this ongoing battle with Shane. Indeed he was too clingy and possessive, but deep down, Kat thought that maybe she needed something like that. Denying any feelings she had for him was taking its toll on her psychological health, and she was beginning to realise that she was simply too tired to drag it out much longer. The mental landfill that she had dug to bury her feelings in had been filled far beyond its capacity.

"You know what?" she asked her godfather.

"Hmm?"

"You're right. You're absolutely right. I need to let it go, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. After all I've been through, I can't take it anymore." As if on a mission, Kat whirled around and marched up to the altar. On its main table, a collection basket for donations sat partially filled with various denominations of cash. Kat stepped up in front of it and opened her hand one last time to gaze at the diamond and its shiny band of yellow gold before ripping it off of her finger and tossing it casually into the basket, forever severing the metaphorical amalgamation she had reluctantly maintained with her deceased spouse. She then peered up at the small crucifix that was mounted on the table, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

"What are you doing?" the priest called.

"Letting go of the past," Kat replied as she stepped off of the altar and returned to his side. She held up her left hand, summoning an astonished glance that may have included some level of approval from the aging exorcist.

"I am proud of you," Father Anthony commented with a soft grin. "And what of him?" He pointed to Shane.

"I don't know," Kat brooded. "I confess, Father, there is some kind of feeling inside of me for him that isn't negative. I've just never truly loved somebody. I don't know what it feels like. And he just ticks me off so bad."

"Open your heart up, Kat. When you've succeeded in doing that, you will know."

* * *

><p>XD<p>

I hope I didn't confuse anyone too much with the medical terminology in this chapter. I attempted to keep it basic for those who don't know much about virology and human physiology. I tried to keep it close to what Dr. Jenner spoke about at the CDC, but like I said earlier, in my story, there's actually a virus. So some things will be different.

I hope everyone understood the _Star Wars_ references I put in here, lol.

I am not sure if the name of the hospital that Rick was at was called Harrison Memorial Hospital or something else. That's just what TWD's Wiki said, so if it's not correct, let me know.

The song that Shane and Kat listen to in this chapter is "Zombie" by Natalia Kills. It's in her _Perfectionist_ album. Go listen to it, it's a badass song! :D

I know this chapter was kinda boring, but the next one is way more intense! I promise!

**The more reviews I get, the faster I post! SO REVIEW MY STORY IF YOU WANT MORE!**

Do you have any suggestions, ideas, comments, or critiques? Pairings you'd like to see? Characters you would like to see zombified or just flat out eaten alive? Suggest away in your review! :)

_**My Zombie Valentine**_ copyright © **28 March 2012** by _**Darkinyron**_

_**The Walking Dead **_copyright © _**Robert Kirkman**_


	4. Valentine

**MY ZOMBIE VALENTINE  
><strong>**By: Darkinyron**

Well, here it is. The chapter everyone's been waiting for and the one I've been dying to post!

In case anyone reading this is unfamiliar with SRT's or SWAT teams, I figured I may as well define them. I noticed that I have some readers from outside of the United States, but I assume most modernised nations also have them, or at least something like them. A Special Response Team, or SRT as they are usually referred to as, is a specialised police unit of the United States Army that responds to dangerous emergency situations, oftentimes within a military compound. Each county within a state has one, and it is usually made up of police officers and/or deputies from the departments within that county. A SWAT team, or Special Weapons and Tactics team, is pretty much the same thing except they respond only to situations outside of a military compound and the members are trained for additional high-risk situations such as terrorist attacks, hostage rescue, engaging heavily armed suspects, riot controls, dangerous drug raids, conducting search warrants, etc. In many counties within the USA, the SWAT team and the SRT team are one unit, but in the heavily populated areas they may be separate. For the purpose of this story, the SRT and the SWAT team are the same.

Also, I'm sure you all saw some zombies wearing FEMA jackets in the TV show. For those who don't know, FEMA is the Federal Emergency Management Agency. It is responsible for coordinating disaster relief when the president declares a state of emergency.

This chapter takes place several days after the events of Chapter 3.

Enjoy! :3

* * *

><p><strong>~ CHAPTER FOUR ~<strong>

**VALENTINE**

SOMETHING HAD SNAPPED inside the hearts and minds of Shane and Katharine. There was only so much that an individual could endure before their mountain of control blew its top to erupt its pressurised contents as a deadly volcano. As they stood, side by side, in front of a five foot deep hole they had just finished digging, they felt the dark poignant lava flow over their emotional landscapes, destroying the thriving life that once surrounded their seemingly peaceful mountains. It crept through their souls at the painstaking speed of molasses, hardening into a rigid crust that would eventually leave nothing more than a barren, lifeless wasteland. Unlike the beautiful volcanoes of Hawai'i that produced brilliant orange spouts of liquid rock that hardened into fresh land on which new trees would eventually grow, the magma that erupted inside of them was cold, ruthless, and venomous to whatever it seemed to come in contact with. Their personalities as a whole were impenetrable and static, but these volcanoes opened up an aspect of their souls that they never dreamed of ever having access to. And with the toxic black clouds billowing out of the gaping fiery craters from which the emotional lava emerged, they could not see to predict how long the eruptions would continue, or what would come when their smoking peaks finally returned to dormancy.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe it's come to this," Katharine Burke whispered to the two policemen sitting on either side of her.<p>

Jason Crandall and Shane Walsh both turned their solemn heads in Kat's direction, gazing down at the M4 Commando carbine rifle in her lap that she was busy prepping for the mission ahead.

"Neither can I," Jason eventually concurred. "It feels like we're about to do something out of a horror movie."

"No kidding," Shane piped in as he packed his own gun's magazine with bullets. "But we gotta do what we gotta do."

"Indeed," Kat murmured.

The three police officers fell silent as they continued readying their weapons for the day's emergency response assignment. They filled several extra magazines with ammunition to prevent the need to reload too often and modified their utility belts to hold extra revolvers or pistols, as well as speed loaders. Two other deputies, as well as Sergeant Ring, sat at another table inside the sheriff department's roll call room, speaking quietly amongst themselves while working on the same tasks. Behind them, two sniper rifles, as well as various pieces of protective gear belonging to the King County Special Response Team, waited.

Sergeant Ring stood after several minutes and ambled up to the front of the room. He turned to his five deputies and pursed his lips, staring at the floor while he searched for words.

"As you know from the SRT callout you received this morning, we have been summoned to duty by request of the United States Military to assist them and FEMA in dealing with this pestilence we have now lost control over," the soft spoken Sergeant Ring began. "Two days ago, President Wayne McDonnell publicly declared a state of emergency and ordered FEMA and our military to eradicate these sick individuals that we have termed 'walkers.' The highest populations of walkers are believed to be inside of our nation's hospitals. Hospitals are becoming overrun with walkers and staff members are unable to contain them in quarantine anymore. The president stated in his press conference that we cannot wait any longer for a cure to be discovered. Our assignment today is to respond to Harrison Memorial Hospital to destroy the walkers housed within."

"How is this legal?" one of the other deputies retorted. The tall African American officer stood up and threw his hands out angrily to his sides. Lam Kendal faced the sergeant, though his outburst was not specifically directed at him. "We can't kill these people! They are alive!"

"President McDonnell has activated his emergency powers to effectively combat this crisis in response to the controversial _Dowell vs. Ohio _case regarding the walkers," Sergeant Ring explained with a disagreeing look on his face. "Two days ago, the United States Supreme Court decided on the case, which asked the Court to determine whether or not the walkers should be classified as living, viable human beings. Based on what little medical evidence we have and their interpretation of the United States Constitution, the Supreme Court ruled that the walkers shall be classified as undead and therefore, no longer 'people' as we understand them."

"That's bullshit!" Lam yelled. He looked toward Kat, hoping that she would speak up and help him defend his pointless argument.

Kat, who was well known for her thorough and harsh political debates, didn't avert her eyes from the half-loaded cartridge she was preoccupied with filling. She remained in her seat, nonchalantly tinkering with it and her semi-automatic weapon.

"Lam, I agree that the Supreme Court's decision was not the best," Sergeant Ring commented after a moment. "It was made hastily and without the proper supporting evidence. But it is what it is, and we must uphold the law."

"Upholding the law requires us to prevent shit like this from happening," Lam snapped.

"And these walkers have gotten out of control," the sergeant pressed on. "The president compared this outbreak to war. Tell me, Deputy, would you rather execute the walkers who are violently spreading this disease and contaminating the healthy, in order to protect what's left of our society? Or would you rather let these unfortunate souls, who are rotting and clearly unable to help themselves, continue to devastate the world until the entire human species goes extinct?"

Lam sighed dejectedly and sat back down. He thought for a long moment, rubbing his dark forehead with his hands.

"We're survivors, now." Shane's voice drifted in from across the room. "Is us, or it's them. It's all about survival of the fittest now."

Lam nodded. "I don't like it, but I gotta admit; you're both right."

"We've all lost loved ones to this disease," Kat finally spoke. Her voice was monotonous and eerily robotic. "We've all watched them suffer and die. We've all watched them resurrect into an army of decomposing cannibals. We've all done what we had to do to end their continued pain. We must now fight this army and give the dead a chance to finally rest in peace."

"Remember . . ." Sergeant Ring expressed firmly as he pulled out a blueprint of the hospital's layout. "Remember that these _were_ once people. They once played games, watched movies, ate family dinners, told jokes, cried during hard times, helped others, and made human mistakes. Most importantly, they all had morals in life. These are the corpses of mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, sons, daughters, siblings, and friends. _They were once normal people_. They would have wanted to die peacefully and be laid to rest. When we get to that hospital and begin this operation, I want to see all of you respect the dead. Don't treat them as if they are monsters. _They are not monsters_."

Shane and Katharine exchanged serious glances that were laced with a hint of resentment.

"Injury to the brain is the only known way to end the life of a walker," the sergeant explained. "You will have to shoot them in their heads."

"SWAT training always had us focus on the torso," the other cop commented, whose name was Craig Lepsch.

"True, but you've all had headshot training on moving targets. We weren't expecting it to be this way, but we must do what we can."

"You're never prepared for the worst," Kat grumbled.

The other five officers turned to her, each with an eyebrow raised.

"Fire fighters weren't prepared for the terrorist attacks on 9/11," Kat elaborated, eyes still fixed on her gun. "Evacuation plans hadn't been designed in the event of a plane crashing into a skyscraper, but people looked back on it and asked why due to the height of the buildings and the possibility of such an accident occurring. Fictional movies weren't enough. It took an intentional murder-suicide mission to get people to think about it and make changes for the future. Now here we are, unprepared for the zombie apocalypse. How many stupid movies have been made about zombies eating people and what to do about them? All those movies about zombies taking over the world and we're about as prepared as a half-cooked chicken wing."

"How about we look at the glass as if it's half full?" Craig joked with a smirk. "I think the walkers like their meals to be as rare as rare can get."

"Fuck you," Kat snapped.

"Let's all just concentrate on the task at hand," the sergeant called as he hung up the hospital blueprint with a few thumbtacks. He hoped it would stop the bickering and refocus the group.

"Pardon me for asking, Sarge," Shane said. "But King County's SWAT team consists of more officers than just us six. We should have twenty men in here right now. Where are the guys from the county's municipal departments?"

"They have been sent to the other hospitals around King County," the sergeant sighed worriedly. "I don't like the idea. We need all the help we can get."

"So it's just us?"

"It will be the six of us from King County's SRT. When we get to the hospital, we will be joined by some men from the military. We will also have help from Atlanta Police Department's chief, captain, and four of their officers.

"Atlanta PD's _chief_ and _captain_?" Lam asked for confirmation.

"That's right," Sergeant Ring said with a nod. It was practically unheard of for the chief or captain of any large police department to even make traffic stops, let alone engage in armed combat.

"Better than nothing," Shane reluctantly said.

"I tried to convince Sheriff Everhart to make an exception to let more of our department come with us, but he wouldn't have it. The six of us are the best shots due to our sniper skills. He doesn't want to risk the lives of our other deputies who haven't been trained for special ops."

"What if we get bit?" Kat wondered almost casually.

"That's another thing," the sergeant added. His face was fraught with conflict and denunciation. "The military will be executing any patients it comes across who have been bit . . . even the ones who are still alive."

Expressions of disbelief and surprise formed on the deputies' faces.

"Now I know what you're all thinking," he continued. "And I'm thinking it too—that _is_ homicide."

"You don't expect us to shoot living people, do you?" Lam asked.

"No," the sergeant said, much to their unanimous relief. "If you come across a living, bitten individual, lead them to the ER. But don't interfere with what the military chooses to do. We do not have room for disagreements. It's going to be a warzone in there."

"But what if one of _us_ gets bit?" Kat asked darkly.

"Don't get bit," her superior plead, though it sounded like more of an order than a vague hope. "You will each be paired up to watch each other's backs. If your partner gets bit, get them out of the hospital." He turned toward the blueprint and began pointing out assignments. "Lam and Jason, you guys will be stationed on the roof of the hospital in the northwest corner due to your sniper skills to take down any walkers that approach the hospital or try to escape. Military personnel will take the other three corners."

Lam and Jason nodded. Jason turned to Kat and gave her a look of disappointment at being paired up with someone other than his usual work partner.

"Shane and Kat, since you two are our quickest shots, both of you will be put on the third and second floors to evacuate patients from the psychiatric ward, maternity ward, trauma ward, and ICU. The main quarantine areas are on the second floor, and the military predicts that it will contain the most walkers."

Now it was Kat's turn to flash Jason an expression of dissatisfaction. She was not thrilled with the idea of being paired up with Shane.

"Remember, Rick is in there," Sergeant Ring added. "He's in Room 450. Get him out when you can so he can be transported to safety. Craig and I will take the first floor. The hospital reported that it has run out of muzzles and straitjackets, so be aware that many of the walkers will not be restrained."

"What about the emergency room?" Shane asked. "When Kat and I were there on Saturday, it was packed. It will be far worse now."

"We will see what Atlanta PD's chief says when we get there. She will be leading this operation. Anymore questions before we load up the cars?"

The five deputies all shook their heads.

"Then let's head out."

* * *

><p>Helicopters idled above the small towns of King County, Georgia, calling out to the residents with echoing loudspeakers. Instructions were given to exit homes when the coast was clear of walkers and run to either FEMA concession stands that were set up in the streets or military transports that were travelling through to collect civilians and take them to refugee centres. Civilians living in cities or areas with high populations of walkers were told to remain indoors until their neighbourhoods were deemed safe. Everything was beginning to shut down. Restaurants, schools, post offices, pharmacies, churches, supermarkets, and even gas stations were closing in all fifty states as well as internationally. Mass hysteria had set in. The American government had legalised the killing of zombies and now living people were falling victim to those who mistook them for the undead. Police officers who were not members of their department's SRTSWAT team had been given orders to patrol their jurisdictions and eliminate any walkers they encountered.

_"The federal emergency alert system has been activated. The Office of Civil Defence has issued the following message. Normal broadcasting will cease immediately. This is a civil emergency warning. Please do not venture outside of your homes. Stay inside at all costs. Remain calm. Help is on the way."_

"Turn that off," Shane griped with irritation. "Damn thing ain't doing nothing but repeating itself over and over again."

Katharine reached in and poked the patrol car's FM radio's button to turn it off. "I am so sick of hearing about this. I just want to listen to some fucking music. Do you have a CD on you or in this car?"

"Nope. Wish I did."

"Damn."

"Rick never lets me listen to music while we're on patrol. Says it's unprofessional and a distraction from duty. You know Rick, he's our department's Mr. Goodie Two Shoes," Shane tittered.

"Yep," Kat chuckled. "And that's why he's our best friend. Keeping us in line is what he does best."

"Ain't that the truth? You driving?" Shane asked as he finished loading the trunk with their supplies and slammed it shut.

"Sure." Kat yawned, unused to being awake this early. She eased into the driver's seat that was usually occupied by Rick Grimes and detected the faint aroma of her friend's cologne on its black leather. The car was already running to cool its interior, but she cranked the air conditioner up to combat the still stifling humidity.

"I hope we can get Rick out all right," Shane said optimistically as he took a seat beside her.

"Me too," Kat agreed as she guided the police car out of the station's parking lot. Ahead of her, the sergeant led them in the direction of Harrison Memorial Hospital. Behind her, Jason and Lam followed in Kat's usual police interceptor. As the short motorcade headed out of the small town, its drivers had to swerve a few times to avoid some walkers who had meandered stupidly into the streets. But as they ventured into the vast farmlands and forested areas that made up the majority of the large county, the roads became more and more clear, giving the remote areas a false sense of security.

"I uhh, noticed the other day that you took your wedding ring off," Shane remarked after about ten minutes of uncomfortable silence. His curiosity about the ring's sudden disappearance could wait no longer, despite the high levels of stress they were already under.

Katharine peeled her eyes from the road just long enough to give him a brief acknowledgement. After a few seconds of thought, her lips curled into a unilateral smirk. "Yeah."

"Why?" Shane asked with an essence of astonishment.

Kat shrugged. "I'm over it. I'm over _him_."

Shane stared at her, his eyebrows raised and his mouth slightly agape. Kat glanced at him again, allowing her grin to widen.

"Just like that?"

"Just like that," Kat confirmed with a quick nod.

"What did you do with it?"

Kat chuckled softly. "The other day when you took me to the church, I threw it in the collection basket for donations." She saw Shane's mouth drop even more through her peripheral vision.

After a long pause, he finally spoke. "So, umm, what's that supposed to symbolise? You donating your marriage to the church or something?"

"I guess you could put it that way," Kat agreed. "I took the ring off and returned my union to the church where it originated from. Father Anthony told me I needed to get over it and move on. So I did. I let him go. My husband wasn't my soul mate. So I severed the bond I had with him and freed myself from a trap I should have never fallen into in the first place. Now I can move on with my life and finally allow myself to be happy."

"Wow," Shane breathed. "Just . . . wow."

"I knew you'd be shocked," Kat sniggered.

"I am. I mean, you have no idea just how shocked I am. I've waited six years for you to take that goddamn ring off and let him go, but I thought you'd never do it. I always hoped you would, but I never believed it was ever gonna happen."

"Neither did I."

"Why didn't you just pawn it?" he wondered.

"It wasn't worth much and I wouldn't have gotten any more than $700 out of it," Kat admitted. "Plus I figured the church could sell it and use the money to buy some new Bibles. The ones they stock in the pews for people to read during mass are falling apart."

Shane laughed. "That's true. Last time I was there with you, Junior pulled about ten loose pages out of the one I was trying to use to follow along."

"I noticed. That was funny."

"I also seen that you changed your relationship status on Facebook from 'widowed' to 'it's complicated' the other day," Shane pointed out, his voice filled with an unusual giddiness. He found it next to impossible to keep his burning grin at bay, but tried to nonetheless when he wasn't speaking. "Who've you got complicated relations going with, hmm?"

"Some cop," Kat teased.

"Oh? Do I know him?"

"Yeah, he's the idiot sitting right next to me."

"Aww, now that ain't very nice," Shane pouted.

Now grinning wide, Kat turned to face Shane and made an "L" sign against her forehead with her thumb and pointer finger.

"Bitch," Shane joked.

"Jerk," she shot back.

"So what does 'it's complicated' make us?" he questioned. "Cuz I know you women _love_ to make it confusing for us guys."

"Hell if I know."

"Okay then let me give you some options," Shane offered, still slightly amused. "You see, in a guy's mind, 'it's complicated' can mean one of two things. Either, A. we're still in this broken up stage and you are to the point of viewing me as a fuck buddy but otherwise useless; or B. we're back in a relationship but having serious problems."

"I assume you're hoping for the latter?"

"Of course."

"Okay."

"Okay? Does that mean your answer is option 'B' or what?"

Kat shrugged. "Well I did take the ring off, didn't I? Part of letting go of the past means opening yourself up to the potential of the future."

"So does that mean you're giving me a chance?"

"Yep."

"About time!"

Kat flicked her thumb against her naked ring finger as if she were searching for the missing golden band. Shane had noticed her doing it ever since she stopped wearing it.

"Does it feel weird, not having it on?"

"Yeah, I hate that part," Kat sighed. "I feel naked without it. But at least I've finally gotten rid it. God, I hated that ring. It was so ugly."

"I know you hate to talk about this kinda thing, but I'm gonna take a stab at it anyways," Shane said acutely. "Do you want a replacement?"

Kat fell silent for a long, drawn out moment. Shane allowed himself the excitement and hope that she was actually, finally considering it.

"Ever since I took it off, I've been thinking about it," Kat finally confessed. She turned her head again and gazed at Shane for several seconds, smiling slightly as she thought hard. "Letting my husband go was a big step for me. It felt like a huge weight was lifted off of my shoulders. But it also left me empty in a way that I both detest and fear."

"Then let me fill that void," Shane encouraged softly. He reached up and gently pried Kat's right hand off of the steering wheel, then entwined his fingers with hers. "I love you, Kat, and I can see how unhappy you are within yourself, living the life of a widow, closed off to the world, and empty inside. Stop being so afraid and open up. Take the risk. If you would just do that, you would find happiness."

"I know. I'm sick of it."

"Then what are you waiting for? I'll put a ring on your finger that's way prettier than the one you threw out." Shane's sheepish grin spread again as he imagined what Kat's left hand would look like with the ring he had bought her years ago on it. The golden band he had picked out boasted a sparkling set of rocks that was far more impressive than that old ugly solitaire. He had always wondered why any man would choose a solitary diamond ring for a woman he wanted to spend his life with; in his mind, a lone gemstone represented just that—loneliness.

Kat chuckled; it was a mixture of glee, hope, and sadness. "The world has gone to Hell, Shane."

"So?"

"Everything's shutting down. Everyone's dying. Soon, none of the official stuff will even matter anymore."

"It's the action that counts, Kat. Who cares about a piece of paper?"

"True . . ."

"The world will bounce back. It always does when these plagues blow over. When it does, I want you to be Mrs. Walsh. Think hard about it, and let me know what you decide."

Kat's grin grew wide again, and she tried to hide it by chewing on her bottom lip. "Just as well."

Shane still had no idea what that expression meant, but he chose to ignore it. "Ya know, I think Katharine Amanda Walsh sounds way better than Katharine Amanda Burke. Don't you think?"

"Actually it does," Kat agreed with a giggle.

"And having K.A.W. as your initials would be way cooler than K.A.B. Sound it out and it would be _kaw_."

"Like a crow! Caw! Caw! Caw!" Kat chortled. "Imma peck your eyes out!"

"Better than _kab_!" Shane waved his hands out in front of him frantically. "Taxi! Over here! Taxi?!"

Kat burst out laughing. "Yeah! Crows are way better than cabbies."

"So let's get it changed," Shane suggested eagerly.

Kat's smile suddenly faltered. "That reminds me of something . . ." she drifted off.

"Hmm?"

"The other day, after I picked Erin up from my father's house, she said something striking to me on the ride home."

Shane felt sadness creep into his soul. "What?"

"She told me that she wanted her name on her gravestone to have your last name instead of Burke."

Shane's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yeah," Kat muttered. "Then she proceeded to get mad at me because we never took her down to the courthouse so you could legally adopt her." Kat felt tears well up in her eyes as she began to cycle between grief and trifling amusement over how it had all gone down.

"We should have," Shane mumbled with regret. "I always wanted to adopt that little girl so bad."

"Well I told her I would do that for her," Kat whimpered. "Yesterday morning, while you were changing the baby's diaper, I called my neighbour who's making Erin's+- temporary marker and told her to use your last name when she gets to the etchings."

"You have no idea how much that means to me, Kat."

Kat's smile started to return, though it was obscured by the tears that were now running down her tanned face. "Shane, if I die, whether it be today or at any point before society recovers from this plague, I want my gravestone to say Katharine Walsh."

"Don't talk like that," Shane hissed. "I just lost a child I'm not going to lose you too."

"Shane, this is the reality of the world. None of us know when we're going to die. It's called the cycle of life. And with this disease going around, our chances of premature death are high. Now I'm not planning on dying." Kat's voice eased into a more stern tone. "I'm going to survive this. I am sure of it. But just in case I'm wrong, I want to throw it out there. If I die before this is over, that's how I want my gravestone to be."

"I'm flattered," Shane said softly. He felt a mix of hopeful, surprised elation and refreshed fear that he was going to lose Kat as the zombie infested infirmary came into view on the horizon. "I've been waiting years to hear a lot of the things you've said to me today. But some of it didn't come in the context that I wanted it to."

"Sorry."

Harrison Memorial Hospital's parking lots were completely overrun. Walkers were wandering aimlessly around cars and abandoned emergency vehicles. FEMA had set up a small command post in the fenced-in private lot of an adjacent building, where they shared the space with emergency medical personnel who were tending to new patients who arrived at the hospital with non-bite related injuries or illnesses. On the front half of the same building's fenced property, soldiers and officers from Atlanta Police Department were awaiting the deputies' arrival.

Both Shane and Kat felt a surge of fear stimulate their adrenal glands as they viewed the chaos that they were about to face. When the soldiers spotted the King County group, they began unlatching the locked gate to let them drive in.

"I don't plan on letting this happen," Kat spoke quickly. "But if I get bit in there, I want you to put me down."

"Knock it off," Shane snapped.

"Please, Shane. If the worst happens, I don't want to become one of these drooling cannibals."

"I'll agree to it, but only if you promise to do the same for me." Shane looked to her sincerely for an accord.

"You got it."

"Now promise me that you're not going to get killed," he demanded.

"Promise," she affirmed, as she coasted the police car into the fenced property. "And you?"

"I promise."

"Then we will survive. And by surviving, we honour Lynn Sommers."

"What do you mean?" Shane asked, confused.

"Get busy living or get busy dying," Kat reminded him as she threw the car's automatic transmission into its park gear and got out.

"Right."

Kat pried her cell phone out of her back pocket while Shane began collecting their equipment from the trunk. She sighed heavily after discovering that she had no notifications and returned the phone to its pouch.

"What's up?" Shane asked in response.

"He hasn't texted me yet."

"Who?"

"My uncle."

"Oh . . ." Shane drifted off. "Did he say he would?"

"Yeah," Kat said softly, exhaling heavily with worry. "I asked him to text me once he'd . . . put her down." She lowered her head, forcefully encouraging her tears to remain in their ducts.

Shane too felt tears start to well up in his eyes. He squeezed his eyelids shut and hid his head from the other officers by reaching around inside the trunk.

"It's been over an hour," Kat observed solemnly by looking at her watch. "I'm starting to get worried."

"He probably needs a bit of time mourn and prepare for it," Shane suggested in a trembling voice.

"Yeah but time is of the essence here. I asked him to do it before she woke up. It's safer that way, both for him and our other three kids. Plus, if he does it before her resurrection, she won't feel any pain. I don't like the idea of her getting . . . shot . . . while there's brain activity, walker or not."

"I agree completely," Shane snivelled. He handed Katharine her ammo, which she clipped onto her utility belt. "What if he doesn't do it before she comes back?"

"Then I trust he'll be as humane as possible," she whispered while wiping escaped tears from her cheeks.

"He will."

"If I don't hear from him soon, I'm going to start freaking out."

"Have faith, Kat. He's an ex-marine. He knows what he's doing."

Kat shrugged as her M4 was handed to her. "God took my child from me long before her time. My faith has been tested dramatically. No mother or father should have to go through this. I was raised to believe that God loves his children and gives people what they deserve. My daughter didn't deserve to die an agonising death. I don't understand why God would take someone so young and innocent in that manner."

"It's the way of nature," Shane added. "I honestly think that God uses the laws of nature to . . . you know."

"True," Kat thought aloud, reminded of an old friend of hers who had lost a three year old son to brain cancer. She was cut off from continuing her dismal conversation when Sergeant Ring called them over to a folding table where the cops from Atlanta Police Department were congregating.

"Took you long enough to get here," Chief Delila Richey was griping in her thick New York accent when the deputies approached. Although she was only about five foot two inches in height, she stood tall and proud with her hands on her utility belt, which was just as modified to carry extra weapons as their own. Like the other Atlanta officers, her uniform was black and perfectly ironed, but four gold bands crossed her shoulders and wrist cuffs, indicating her position of leadership. She adjusted her gold rimmed black hat and removed her sunglasses to give the deputies an expression of slight annoyance, revealing her dark Native American features. "You were expected at 1000 hours. It is now 1009."

"Apologies, Chief. We had to drive through several areas that had walkers all over the place," Sergeant Ring offered as an excuse.

Chief Richey frowned and nodded, then pointed to a layout map of the hospital on the table that was identical to the one Sergeant Ring had displayed earlier. "We will begin the operation by eliminating the walkers outside of the hospital. The military has agreed to take care of the walkers while we secure a perimeter with yellow caution tape." She took a black Sharpie out of her pocket and began outlining an imaginary blockade around the map. "Once the perimeter has been secured, nobody outside of it is allowed in. We will leave an opening in the north parking lot, which is the one directly behind the hospital, for ambulances to pull in and load patients for transport. Some civilians have arrived to pick up patients and hospital employees. They have been instructed to wait within their vehicles at the fire department on Highland Avenue until further notice."

"What about MedFlight?" Sergeant Ring asked, pointing to two helicopters that were sitting atop a grassy knoll, using it as a makeshift landing platform.

"Those choppers will be used to medivac the most critical patients to other hospitals. Such patients will be evacuated from the hospital last, when all of the walkers have been dealt with," Chief Richey explained.

A soldier walked up to the group, holding a gas mask in his hand. "Excuse me, Chief, but we have a concern."

"What is it?" she questioned.

"Our corporals are concerned that we won't have enough ammo or enough men to take on all of these walkers. We're severely outnumbered."

"Many of the walkers are still restrained," Chief Richey reminded him. "We _should_ have plenty of ammo. The ones who are restrained will be little threat to us for they cannot attack. They have been jacketed and muzzled for the safety of the doctors."

The soldier nodded hesitantly and turned back to his group, strapping his gas mask on as he returned to them.

"Where are my two snipers?" Chief Richey asked.

Lam Kendal and Jason Crandall both raised their hands.

"After the perimeter has been secured, you two will join the six soldiers waiting by the gates." She nodded toward the fence where the deputies had driven in. "You will use the outside ladder on the west side of the hospital by the loading docks to reach the roof. Take out any walkers that approach the hospital, and be sure to get them in the head."

Lam and Jason both nodded, accepting their assignment.

"The military advised me that while many walkers wander about alone, some of them seem to be joining up into transient packs. They also warned us that walkers are attracted to sound, so our gunshots may draw them here. Personally, I do not know if this is true or not because I have not seen it for myself. But in the event that a large group of walkers approaches the hospital while we are inside, use your portable radios to alert us in the event that you cannot take them all out on your own. If this occurs, the code will be 'Signal 99A.' Everyone, be sure your radios are set to channel 4 and that they are unencrypted. The military will be on the same frequency."

The group of officers all checked their radios and made the necessary adjustments.

"What if the walkers penetrate the roof? How will we get down?" Lam wondered fearfully.

Another policeman from Atlanta stepped forward to address Lam. His uniform was marked similarly to the chief's but with fewer gold emblems, signifying his rank of Captain. The deputies saw the name of Captain Young engraved on his golden badge. "Yesterday we evacuated Kindred Hospital in Atlanta. While the walkers grabbed at or reached for things that any living human would recognise as doorknobs, locks, and window latches, they didn't seem to remember what they were for. They also had trouble getting up and down staircases. I wouldn't worry about the ladder if I were you."

"That's a relief," Lam breathed.

Chief Richey waited for her SWAT team to finish setting up their radios before speaking again. "The rest of us will enter the hospital through the emergency room."

Shane and Kat both shuddered.

"Since we will be evacuating patients and hospital staff through the emergency room doors, we must first clear the wing." More arrows and circles were drawn on the map as the leader of Atlanta Police Department spoke. "Those of you who have been assigned to work the second and third floors will go directly to your posts, beginning with the third floor and working your way down. Do not worry about us on the first floor; we will get the emergency room under control on our own."

"Which elevator or staircase should we use to get upstairs?" Shane asked.

A circle was drawn around the square that represented the lift Dorian had used to access the basement from the emergency room. "This elevator will be the closest to us when we enter the emergency room," Chief Richey pointed out. "It is an employee-only lift, but you can use it to get to floors one, two, and three without a key. In the event that too many walkers are blocking it, you will have to run back outside and use this emergency exit staircase to get upstairs." Another circle was drawn around a symbol on the blueprint that clearly indicated stairs on the east side of the hospital. "The hospital has disarmed all emergency exits, so you should have no problem getting in and out."

"It's going to be chaos inside," Captain Young added. He took his hat off to wipe sweat from his brow that was beginning to form from his anticipation and the morning's already stifling heat wave. The forty-two year old Aryan man didn't appear half as nervous as he felt. "We don't have an exact count, but we estimate that there will be anywhere from two hundred to four hundred walkers inside. This plague has taken over fast, so be sure to watch your partner's back and keep your guns loaded." As if to emphasise, he checked to make sure that his own assault rifle was ready for action.

"Harrison Memorial has three quarantine areas set up right now," the chief went on. "One is on the first floor just down the hall from the emergency room, which has acted as the original quarantine area." She circled a large rectangle on the first floor layout. "When that got too crowded, the infected patients, or walkers, were moved upstairs to the medical supplies room and the cafeteria." Two more large ovals were drawn on the floor plan of the second level. "The cafeteria is reported to house the most walkers, many of which were not restrained due to the shortage of straitjackets and biter masks."

"What about the patients?" Jason asked. "The ones that aren't infected, I mean."

"Work on getting the walkers taken care of first," Chief Richey advised. "Tell patients who can walk on their own to make a run for it and get outside. Instruct them to exit the hospital with their hands in the air to avoid being shot. The military will be going through individual rooms and spray painting an 'X' on each room as they are cleared. For the safety of all patients, their rooms' doors are currently closed right now to prevent walkers from getting inside to them. If a room doesn't have an 'X' on its door, consider it still occupied. Patients who are unable to walk on their own will be wheeled outside on gurneys. To get them downstairs, you must use the elevator across from the operating room, which is on the second floor. When you start wheeling patients out, consider the person on the gurney to be your main priority. Keep them safe at all costs. Patients who are bitten but still alive will be taken care of by the military."

"What about the patients who are attached to IV's, oxygen, and heart monitors?" Kat asked, thinking of Rick.

"Time is of the essence here," the chief said. "Remove the IV drips. They can survive for brief periods without their IV's, long enough to get them outside and into a transport. If the patient is on oxygen, find a portable oxygen tank and replace their supply with it. All rooms are stocked with portable oxygen tanks in the event of a power outage. Try to save these patients for last as far as the evacuation goes, for they will be the hardest to get out. The oxygen tanks are heavy."

"Chief, this may be a dumb question, but why are the soldiers wearing gas masks?" Shane wanted to know. He nodded towards the camouflaged group that were waiting patiently for the cops.

"There are patients in there that have contagious diseases," the chief said quickly as she rolled up the blueprint. "Diseases that you can catch by breathing in another person's sneeze. They're wearing the gas masks to protect themselves for they will be responsible for evacuating those particular patients. You guys just stay in the wings that either myself or Sergeant Ring assigned you to. The only disease you need to worry about contracting is the walker fever. Don't get bit. Anyone else have questions before we begin the operation?"

The cops remained vocally silent as they slung guns over their shoulders and readied the ones they planned to shoot with first.

"Radio checks, everyone," Captain Young ordered.

Each SRT member went down the line, speaking their officer number into their radio. When all had done so, the others nodded in unison when they heard it come through their earpieces.

Chief Richey then turned and began leading her group toward the soldiers.

"Let's begin."

* * *

><p>Chaos had been an understatement. Plans quickly fell apart, communication faltered, and nobody inside of Harrison Memorial Hospital seemed to listen to or even comprehend the orders they were given. Unrestrained walkers were everywhere. People ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. Some were so terrified that even their fight or flight instincts failed them; they either ran into groups of zombies that tore them apart or into oncoming fire that injured them, which also led to them becoming easy prey. The only sounds that resonated against the hospital's once pristinely white walls were gunshots, screams, and the moans of the walkers. Blood spatter covered every imaginable surface and the linoleum floors quickly became slick with scarlet puddles and human meat.<p>

The number of patients successfully evacuated dwindled significantly as Shane and Kat made their way through the psychiatric ward more than an hour later. It was on the hospital's second floor, not far from the two quarantine rooms. Killing the third floor's forty-seven walkers had been like taking candy from a baby. Now, they were faced with hundreds. Soldiers had broken away from the two deputies, leaving them mostly on their own to face the hordes. Chief Richey and Captain Young had gone upstairs with the hospital's administrator to double check the rooms and make sure no patients had been forgotten.

"I thought we were supposed to be working as a unit," Katharine called to Shane, raising her voice so she could be heard over the blasts of her M4. "We're going to get our asses killed in here if they don't get come back!"

"No shit, where did they even go?" Shane asked.

"I have no idea. I can barely see with all this smoke!" The smoke that she was referring to saturated the air from the military's automatic firearms. The smell of gunpowder mingling with the reek of blood and decaying flesh was pungent and nauseating.

As they pulled empty cartridges out of their guns to reload, they watched with a mixture of awe and repulsion as a paranoid schizophrenic darted past them and knelt before a fallen walker that Katharine had just exterminated with her last bullet. The woman, whose paranoia probably wasn't so much of an irrational illness anymore, had somehow gotten her hands on a dagger or some sort of shank. She violently thrust its blade into the lifeless zombie's abdomen and yanked it into several long, crude cuts until his rotten innards spilled out onto the floor.

"What the fuck?" Kat marvelled in horror.

The crazy female then began wiping the walker's blood all over her face and arms. She even rolled over and thrashed her head about in the mess, contaminating her dirty blonde locks of hair with dark red goo.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Shane gasped.

The woman then stood and faced them, eyes wide with insanity when she saw Katharine's now reloaded rifle aimed right for her head.

Shane saw what Kat was about to do and gently pushed her gun to divert its trajectory.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

Kat growled under her breath before raising the firearm again, but instead of execution she chose to put down one of the undead instead.

"They can't smell yer live'n ass if they think yer one of 'em!" the psychotic woman cackled before darting down the hall. "Them voices told me so!"

She didn't get too far before Kat began pulling the trigger in rapid succession to wipe out an oncoming flock of zombies. A stray bullet entered the schizophrenic's head before she had time to adequately test her theory.

"Kat!" Shane lashed out angrily. "You just killed her!"

Kat shrugged. "Didn't mean to! She was running into them if you didn't notice! You honestly think they wouldn't have eaten her?"

"You just shot and killed a living person, Katharine!" he yelled.

"Shane, this is war. There's going to be casualties. These things may be dumber than an idiot talking to the wall but they still have all their feeding instincts and their five senses. They can tell the living from the dead."

Oddly enough, some of the walkers bent over to sniff the murdered nutcase. Some of them quickly lost interest when they caught a whiff of her contaminated zombie costume. They then got up to search for even fresher prey before Shane took them down with bullets. Others, however hesitant, found the odour of uninfected flesh that they had been looking for and dug in for a snack.

Shane began to feel a bit of fear after what Kat had just done. What scared him the most was that she didn't even seem to care. The woman who had just days before been so worried about going to Hell for killing walkers was now writing off the random manslaughter of an innocent bystander as if it didn't even matter.

"Kat . . ."

"Don't start with me, Shane! That woman was going to be eaten alive." Kat pointed to the feasting trio of walkers that were busy chewing the schizophrenic up. "See? She didn't stand a chance; I made it easy for her."

The icy tone of Kat's voice sent a chill down Shane's spine. Kat had a point with her rationalisation, but he just couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. The molten rage that was erupting from Kat's emotional volcano was now showing its aptitude for outward danger. But subconsciously, Shane's own volcano was building up its potential to commit the same crimes. Killing walkers quickly turned people numb, cold, and willing to do anything, as he would soon discover in the near future.

* * *

><p>Five trips outside to reload and an undetermined amount of time later, Shane and Kat finally arrived at the first quarantine room that they had been charged with clearing.<p>

Muzzled zombies were packed into the sanatorium's medical supply room like sardines. Above the room's door, a makeshift quarantine warning sign had been posted to keep unauthorised individuals away. Sergeant Ring had insinuated that the walkers inside would be strapped to gurneys, but they discovered the lack of truth. The confined patients stood inside, so close together that had they been alive, they would have felt as if their personal space had been invaded. It was all they could do to move around in their places. Kat and Shane felt a twinge or sorrow for the zombies inside the crowded room. It looked and smelled about as humane as an overcrowded jail cell in Moscow, and the purpose of the room had clearly become the same.

Restrained zombies couldn't put up much of a fight; that much was true. Kat felt pity for them as she went through the room and laid them to rest while Shane watched the door and protected her. The last one standing in the room was a decomposing little girl who faintly resembled Erin with her blonde hair and skinny frame. Kat sighed and prayed silently for a brief moment after destroying the resurrected lass. _Father, I'm sorry for what I've done today. I know it's my duty, but I honestly don't know how you are viewing this onslaught right now. If I am murdering humans, please know that I am sorry and that I don't understand the complexity of this disease. I hope you can understand that I am doing this to protect the living. Please forgive me, both for what I'm doing, what I'm about to do, and for taking the life of the mentally ill woman from earlier. I see now that I was in the wrong, and honestly I don't know if I did it accidently or if something snapped inside of me that drove me to do it. I've been feeling so dark inside these past few days, and I'm beginning to fear that . . ._

"Kat!" Shane shouted. She turned and found him standing against the door jam, firing hectically at what she knew to be an unseen band of walkers. Smoke was wafting into the room when she ran to him. "They're behind me! Shoot the ones behind me!"

Kat ducked beneath Shane's line of fire to cross in front of him and scan her surroundings. She caught a quick glimpse of zombie silhouettes approaching from the north, many of which fell as Shane's bullets hit them. She positioned herself with her back against his and pointed her M4 at another obscured horde approaching from the opposite direction.

"I'm getting low on ammo," Shane panicked as he fired. "This is my last clip!"

Kat paused just long enough to check her own. "I have one magazine left after this. Finish your clip and start working on that Glock!"

"We need to get outside to reload!"

"238 to 1835," Kat called into her radio between shots.

_"1835,"_ Sergeant Ring quickly responded in a voice thick with strife.

"Where are you?" Kat demanded frantically. "2347 and I are cut off in front of the supply room, walkers coming at us from both ends of the hall! We are running out of ammo, fast!"

A large boom came from what seemed to be the first floor, rattling the hospitals walls and sending bits of drywall onto their heads.

_"The ammo's gone!"_ Sergeant Ring practically screamed into the radio several seconds after the blast. _"We'll be up to assist you but we're going to be pulling out soon!"_

"What about the military's supply?" Kat asked just as her Commando's last bullet cut through a growling corpse's head.

_"They have different weapons! Their bullets aren't compatible with our M4's!"_ The sergeant's words sent a fresh wave of terror through Shane and Kat as they began emptying their pistols. _"But they don't have any extra guns to . . ."_

Sergeant Ring was cut off when another voice, one more serious and authoritarian with its New York accent, barked into the radio. _"All units move out! We've done all we can do here!"_ The commanding tone came from Chief Delila Richey. _"Abort the mission!"_

"Oh my God," Kat panicked. She glanced over her shoulder to see Shane looking at her with the same level of fright in his eyes. "We're trapped."

"I love you, Kat." Shane's eerily soft voice trembled hard as he continued shooting the oncoming horde. "I love you with all my heart and if this is our fate then I want you to know that."

Rapid bursts from an automatic rifle suddenly became the most welcome sound the two deputies had ever heard as their sergeant suddenly appeared behind the walkers that Kat faced. She immediately ducked for cover, twisting Shane's arm painfully as she pulled him down to the floor with her. Sergeant Ring had apparently stolen the M16 from a soldier, or perhaps picked it off of one who had fallen. He mowed down the moaning carcasses in the smoked up corridor as if they were bowling pins getting knocked over by an oncoming iron ball.

"You guys okay?" the sergeant called to Shane and Kat.

"Yeah!" Kat replied.

"C'mon! We have to get out!" he shouted back before disappearing down another one of the hospital's smoggy passages.

"Let's go," Shane groaned as he stood up. He tossed his empty assault rifle aside and grabbed Kat's hand to guide her out.

"Wait!" Kat yelped, as she regained her balance.

"What?"

"I need to make sure my father got out!" Katharine jumped aside frantically as another tremor rattled through the hospital, knocking more ceiling debris onto her head.

"Kat we barely have any bullets left!" Shane argued over the loud pops of the military's rapid fire. "We have to go, _now_!"

"Go and get Rick!" Kat ordered. "There's still time!" She paused to glance down to hallway; a group of soldiers in the perpendicular corridor were running to what they assumed to be the quarantined cafeteria.

"We are not splitting up!"

"Shane, I have to make sure my dad got out all right! He's my _father_! I can get to the elevators from here. Go and get Rick; we can't leave him here!"

"I'm not leaving _you_," Shane protested.

"Look, in the time it will take you to get Rick onto a gurney and out of his room, I can get down to the ER, find a doctor or a pager, and check on my dad! We have to do this now while this floor is still clear!"

Shane raked his fingers through his dusty hair and thought fast. "I don't like this idea. Can't you just call him on your cell phone?"

Kat's eyes lit up as she reached for the mobile communication device. She opened it and quickly discovered the she had yet to receive a text message from her uncle. Shane watched Kat's hope evaporate and quickly turn to rage. "My uncle still hasn't texted me, and with all this shit going on in here I don't have any service!"

"Kat, I'm sure your father got out."

"Well I need to make sure. And I'm going to. You have to go and get Rick. Get him outside to an ambulance!"

"All right, fine," Shane reluctantly consented as he began to pull away in the opposite direction. "But promise me you'll be careful. _Please_."

"I promise," she swore as she turned. Kat suddenly halted in her tracks and turned back. "Shane, wait!"

Shane spun around before he had gotten too far down the hall. "What is it?" he asked as Kat trotted back over to him.

Kat wrapped her arms loosely around Shane's neck and brought him into a fervent kiss, one so unexpected that it took him by complete surprise. Kat's soft lips temporarily forced him out of his militaristic yet flustered mode and reminded him of how much he truly did love her. Their mouths tangled ravenously before melting into one long motion. They maintained their risky demonstration of deep affection, afraid to pull away from each other's embrace lest their world end right then and there. It didn't matter if every zombie or armed man left in the hospital saw it.

Shane physically felt an ache in his heart when he felt Kat's lips release from his. He opened his eyes and stared into her dark orbs, reading the emotion inside them like a book. Her eyes told him everything that he needed to know. Determination, bravery, terror, and the sheer instinct to survive spoke to him through those silent glassy irises. But he saw something else now, something he had always hoped to find evidence of, and now that it was at last looking him dead in the eye he questioned its reality.

"I love you," Kat said coyly.

Shane blinked; his ears abruptly reminded him of how badly they were ringing due to all the close-range gunfire.

"What?" he asked in disbelief, terrified that he had heard wrong.

"I love you, Shane."

The memory of Padmé Amidala and Anakin Skywalker sitting in their chariot as it escorted them into their execution arena flashed through his mind's eye, cutting through all of the mental chaos like butter. He realised what this was. Katharine Burke feared that she would never see him again.

"Don't do this, Kat."

"I mean it, Shane. I love you. I should have told you a long time ago, but you know, I just didn't know what it felt like. That day at the church, Father Anthony saw me watching you and the kids play. He said he saw it in my eyes. He said that's how people look at each other when they're in love. I realised then that it was true and that I had been fooling myself this whole time. What I felt for my husband wasn't love. I thought it was, because the way I've always felt toward you is so much different. Now I see that it was the other way around. What I felt for him was something that didn't even matter, but here I was, stupid me, in love with you the whole time. I asked Jesus to show me a sign of where my relationship with you was meant to go and to guide me in the right direction. He answered my prayer, Shane. He worked through Father Anthony to open my eyes."

Shane felt as if all of the pent up stress and emotional pain he had endured over the years had finally found an exit door. He felt it escape as tears spilled from his eyes. Tears of joy, he knew. He'd waited six agonising years to hear these words, and for the first time in his entire life, he felt complete.

"My love for you is the reason I threw my wedding ring away. I didn't need his lingering baggage anymore. Now I just want your crazy ass and all your stupid baggage that comes with it." Kat grinned sheepishly as she spat the words out. Her face was red with nervousness.

"I . . . I don't know what to say," Shane stammered, stuck in some sort of pleasant shock. "I can't believe you've finally said all of this . . ."

"In a zombie-ridden hospital while bullets are flying all around us, nonetheless," Kat added sarcastically, though it wasn't nearly as sardonic as she made it sound.

"Yeah," Shane laughed. "How did I know you'd tell me in the midst of a life threatening situation as if we're in the middle of an action film?"

"Because that's how I roll," Kat said casually with a shrug.

"Well I love you too, and don't you dare let this be your goodbye sermon."

"Nah," Kat assured. "I'm a survivor."

"So am I."

"Then we will live to see where our weird-ass romance goes."

"Promise?"

"I promise, and I always keep a promise."

"I know you do."

"Now go and get Rick."

Kat then whirled around and darted back down the hallway, pistol in hand, locked and loaded. Shane watched her disappear around the corner, still smiling as his blanket of comfort settled over him. Feeling invincible, he turned and bolted down the hallway in search of Room 450.

* * *

><p>Finding the emergency room free of the walking dead was a relief as Kat exited the lift. She ran behind the front desk that had once been occupied by the bitchy receptionist and began sifting through papers and typical office junk, trying to locate a pager or some kind of list containing phone line extensions. She found a keychain that looked like it may contain an elevator key and returned to the lift with it, dodging stretchers and frantic doctors who were busy with the evacuation. She tried all of the brass keys, but none of them fit the lock that was made of the equivalent alloy. None of the silver keys fit either.<p>

"Damn it!" she hissed to no one in particular, not that there was anyone around who gave a shit anyways. Throwing the keys on the floor she skidded back to the desk and continued her search. Eventually she found a phone among a mess of papers and a thin phone book of hospital extensions, which she began flipping through to find her father's four digit line. Mentally kicking herself for having not memorised it due to cell phone usage, she cussed heatedly under her breath, practically ripping pages from the phone book out of frustration until she located Dorian Chambers' number. She jabbed her fingers against the numeric buttons of the telephone and prayed that her father would answer.

_"Chambers,"_ the man answered monotonously, much to Kat's relief.

"Dad!" she shouted into the receiver.

_"Katharine?!"_

"Dad you have to get out of there!" Kat ordered. "There are dead people everywhere! You need to get to safety!"

_"Katharine, I'm fine. There is no threat down here."_

"Dad! You need to come upstairs and get out! I just received orders from Chief Richey of Atlanta PD that we are moving out and aborting the evacuation. We are out of ammo, and we need to leave _now_!"

_"Where are you? How are you calling me?"_

"I'm on a phone at the front desk in the ER! Get up here!"

_"Katharine, stay calm. I will meet you outside. Wait for me in the . . ."_

A sudden blast of what Kat assumed to be an explosive threw her painfully onto the concrete floor. Kat cringed as her elbow absorbed her fall. She stood up and felt the bruised bone, then picked the dangling phone receiver back up once she decided that it hadn't been fractured.

"Dad?"

The phone was dead. Not even a dial tone hummed into Kat's ears. She then noticed that a blanket of darkness had enveloped the hospital; whatever had exploded had taken the power out with it.

"Fuck!" Kat snarled in a rage, ripping the entire phone out of its jack and throwing it clear across the emergency room before darting down another hallway. She hoped to find a staircase leading back up to the second floor. Knowing that her father was safe for the moment, she decided to go back up and help Shane. He would have to use the staircase to get Rick down now that the lifts were more useless than a bloody tampon, and getting him down on a gurney with an oxygen tank wasn't going to be a one-man job.

Finding a stairway but having no idea where it would take her, Kat flew up the steps and soon found herself in an unfamiliar portion of the second floor. Smog in this area was even thicker than it had been by the medical supply room. Coming from her left, Kat heard hungry grunts and growls from an unseen group of walkers. She took off in the opposite direction, running so fast through the white fog that she crashed into a parked gurney and tumbled over it. The wheeled bed slid out from beneath her, dropping her on the floor as it drifted away.

Carnal instincts geared for sheer survival took over fully; Kat's fight or flight impulse had her back up on her feet before she could even feel the pain of her fall. Her animal pack mentality kept her focused on a search for Shane and Rick to protect them and ensure their arrival to safety. She found another corridor and pushed blindly through a trio of inconspicuous men that she assumed to be soldiers due to their lack of a putrid odour.

Mere seconds later, Katharine's sprint was interrupted when she felt several forceful pelts slam into her back, ricocheting off of her bulletproof vest. She felt herself fall forward before she even knew what had hit her, but tried desperately to keep her balance. Just as her legs began to clumsily propel her into sightless motion again, she felt it again, and this time she wasn't so lucky. Kat slammed face-first onto the shiny linoleum and cried out in pain; it felt as if she had just taken a sword through her right side and another through her shoulder. Unable to move or even breathe, Kat tried to scream at the quick realisation that she had been shot. The bullets had knocked the wind out of her, and her body just couldn't keep up with the shock of it.

Looking down, she watched in alarm as a red stain spread over her right shoulder from two horribly deformed exit wounds that throbbed but oddly enough didn't seem to hurt. Adrenaline and endorphins raced through her bloodstream as shock took over, but she knew the painlessness wouldn't last. She strained her head and watched the crimson pool merge into a larger blot that seemed to be originating from her right side. An instinctual exploration of her other wound revealed what she knew to be the entry point of another bullet. It didn't take applied pressure or brains for Kat to know that at least one of her ribs had been shattered just under her armpit, which also meant that she had a punctured lung.

_Oh God, no! No, no, no, no, NO!_ Kat's mind raced, causing her to experience fear unlike anything she could have ever imagined.

"Shane . . ." Kat rasped, though common sense should have told her that nobody would be able to hear her struggling moans for help. "Shane . . . ! Help . . . !"

Kat's right arm wouldn't move at all. She tried to reach for her radio, and that's when the pain hit. It began throbbing with such intensity that she could practically feel the splintered bones grinding in their places every time her heart pumped. A burning sensation, one comparable to having a red hot ice pick shoved into her shoulder, took over as Kat rolled onto her back and finally succeeded in letting out a gurgled, bloodcurdling shriek of agony.

Kat's left hand found her radio, or at least what was left of it. Finding the whole top half of it blown off made her want to just lay there and give up as she tried to apply pressure to her shoulder, knowing that she wouldn't be able to stop the bleeding. But she suddenly remembered the promise she had made to Shane. Survival wasn't an option here; it was mandatory. Kat then thought of her children. They needed her more than anything in this apocalyptic world, and it was then that Kat made the ultimate decision that her life was not going to be ended by friendly fire that day.

However, the idea of getting back on her feet was immediately ended when an excruciating sensation that was well beyond the description of pain tore through Kat's chest like a miniature atomic bomb, effectively paralysing her as she stared up at the ceiling. It was as if someone was operating a jack hammer inside of her. She couldn't move, she couldn't bawl, she could only stare skyward at the flickering emergency light that danced before her. Kat began to wonder if the light would become a tunnel, especially when her peripheral vision began to close in on her. It was all too much for Katharine to process. Now she understood what Rick Grimes had gone through, and why he was taking so long to recover.

_Please God, don't let me die here! I am so sorry! I am so scared! Jesus, help me! Help me, please!_

A blurry black silhouette suddenly stepped in front of the dying light bulb, though it was hardly a distraction from what Kat prayed wasn't a heart attack that was making her feel as if her entire torso was being savagely ripped in half. Had she been liberated of the indescribable agony, she would have thought the figure had to have been Jesus coming to lift her away.

"Shane . . . ?" Kat croaked, hardly noticing the death rattle caused by built up mucus and fresh blood that had entered her bronchi from her punctured lung. She tried not to cough but her lungs heaved involuntarily in an attempt to rid themselves of the life-threatening fluid. The addition of even more pain left Kat barely clinging to what was left of her perception.

The dark figure came into focus just long enough for Kat's brain to process the image of an AR-15 pointed directly at her head by a blonde Atlanta policeman dressed in black.

"Help . . ." was the only word Kat could force out of her bleeding mouth before her figurative light switch was turned off.

* * *

><p>As Daryl Dixon would say . . . "Ain't that a bitch?"<p>

**:D**

Descriptions of pain for the gunshot wounds came from a friend of mine who has been shot twice.

Do you have any suggestions, ideas, comments, or critiques? Pairings you'd like to see? Characters you would like to see zombified or just flat out eaten alive? Suggest away in your review! :)

_**My Zombie Valentine**_ copyright © **28 March 2012** by _**Darkinyron**_

_**The Walking Dead **_copyright © _**Robert Kirkman**_


	5. Termination

**MY ZOMBIE VALENTINE  
><strong>**By: Darkinyron**

Hey guys, I don't think all of the story alerts were sent out when I posted the last chapter since I didn't get many reviews. Blame FFN if that's what happened. Sorry if they didn't get to you; if you didn't get to read Chapter 4, be sure to go do that first because it's a BIG deal for the story! And review it, please! :D

I just wrote the first scene of this chapter yesterday. I originally had another thing written but decided I didn't like it anymore, so I changed it. When this story is complete, I will post all of the deleted and changed scenes! There was one deleted from Chapter 3 and then the new first part of this chapter so far. I'm sure there will be more in the future.

Sorry about how long it's taken me to update . . . I was just really unhappy with how I'd written this chapter and I didn't want to post it until I was satisfied with it. -_-

Anyways, read on and enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>~ CHAPTER 5 ~<strong>

**TERMINATION**

_SCREAMING WHITE LIGHT was the only constituent of the environment Katharine Burke found herself in. She blindly examined her surroundings and wondered to herself why she didn't feel the need to squint or succumb to an instant headache. Glancing down, she discovered that the light was beneath her feet too, giving her the impression that she was idly standing in a bright vacuum. Yet her feet seemed to be level with what should have been a floor. The colour of crimson caught her eye; she pulled her hands up in front of her face and came to the quick realisation that they were covered in blood. There were no visible injuries on her body that she could see; she was wearing the typical brown and tan uniform of a deputy sheriff, minus her radio and her badge. _

_ When Katharine tried to wipe the blood off onto her pants, fear filled her when the liquid stayed put as if it were some form of crazy external tattoo. She began ringing her hands in an effort to manipulate the liquid, which _felt_ like fluid blood. But the substance remained as it was, stained onto her, unwilling to even smear._

What is this shit? Where are my radio and badge?_ Kat wondered to herself. _Fuck, where _am_ I?

_After what seemed like hours, the light finally began to slowly diminish. Shadows crept in and gave shape to other objects that inhabited Kat's mysterious new world. Trees came into view on the edges of grassy plains. Beneath her feet, a freshly paved strip of skinny, winding road took on a deep grey colour, sparkling gently under the intense luminosity from above. Looking ahead, Kat saw a small group of graves on the horizon._

_ "Where are we?" a familiar male voice wondered from Kat's left side._

_ Katharine turned her head to acknowledge her best friend, Rick Grimes. He stood tall, also clad in his deputy's attire with his western style hat on his head, its seven-point badge twinkling like a true star in the extreme sunlight. She couldn't help but notice that Rick's hands were clean._

_ "I have no idea," she responded sincerely._

_ "Are you hurt?" her concerned pal asked, nodding toward her bloodied palms and fingers._

_ "I don't think so, but I can't get it off." Kat again tried to wipe the substance onto her clothes, but the seemingly thin liquid remained fixed to her like glue._

_ "Is it blood?"_

_ "I think so. At least, it looks and feels like it. Smells like it, even. Liquid, but like . . . stuck on my hands."_

_ "Hmm," Rick thought, scanning his surroundings as the light faded to normal. A blinding white, perfect circle remained high up in the sky; perhaps the light had been made by the Sun? "We don't have shadows," he noticed, looking down._

_ "What the hell?"_

_ "Must be the way the Sun is positioned," he offered as an explanation._

_ Kat shrugged. "How did we get here?" she asked. "This doesn't look like Georgia."_

_ "I dunno."_

_ The lack of a breeze seemed foreign. In Georgia, there was always at least a slight flow of air over the vast flatlands, even when the midday heat became insufferable. Everything here was still and perfectly silent aside from their voices and shuffling as they began to walk down the road in the direction of the tiny cemetery. Both deputies noticed what seemed like a lack of temperature, which made no sense._

_ "I don't like graveyards," Kat shuddered. "They scare me."_

_ "Ever since you were a kid, right?" Rick remembered._

_ "Yeah," she confirmed. She bit her lower lip to emphasise her fear and slowed her pace. "I don't like dead things."_

_ "Me either."_

_ "I just feel death all around me," Kat observed. "Always have."_

_ "Probably just that sensitivity you have to the paranormal," Rick suggested. "Like the ghost in your house."_

_ Kat chuckled. "Guess so."_

_ Fifty or so headstones littered the small graveyard, each marked with a name, an age or date of birth and death, and an explanation as to why the person buried beneath had passed on. Some had little messages or sayings that loved ones had adorned on the stones, which were made of various colours and styles of rocks._

_ Kat huddled in on herself as Rick broke away from his stride to inspect a grave that caught his eye. _

"_What are you doing?" she asked._

_ Rick knelt before the small monument that was surrounded by freshly planted pansies and daffodils. It was slanted and a rich shade of mahogany. "This is the grave of my parents," he called sadly. He looked over at Kat with a look of absolute bewilderment and horror on his face._

_ "Your parents?" Kat's voice was eerie with disgust and misunderstanding as well. She ambled over to Rick and knelt beside him. "But . . . they aren't dead."_

_ "I know," Rick stammered with a nod. He ducked his head beneath his hand and squinted hard, feeling the sudden onslaught of uncontrollable emotion. "They . . . they must have passed away while . . . while I was . . . in the hospital."_

_ "I'm so sorry," Kat murmured sympathetically, placing a hand on Rick's trembling shoulder for comfort. "I didn't know." She studied the gravestone, reading its etchings over and over. Sure enough, Rick's mother was memorialised on the left and his father on the right. Dianna Jean and Jeffrey Carl, Sr.—they had both died on the same day. Beneath their names, carved in very small letters at the base of the stone, Kat saw the reason for their deaths, which she read aloud softly. "The loving parents were taken from this life before a cure could be found. May their souls rest in peace."_

_ "But they weren't sick," Rick argued with trepidation._

_ "We need to get back home, find a newspaper, and make some phone calls. Maybe my father knows what happened to them."_

_ "Can I have a moment alone, please?" Rick whimpered. He looked up at Katharine with bloodshot eyes as tears rained down his face._

_ "Of course," Kat said. She gave Rick's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before she stood. "I'll go get some water for the flowers."_

_ "Thank you," Rick whispered before falling victim to the most painful grief he had ever felt in his life. Katharine felt her heart break for her friend as he erupted into a hyperventilating fit of tears and wished she could do something to stop them. But there wasn't anything she could do; he just had to go through it and mourn. It was the circle of life. The memory of her grandfather's death sprung to mind, and she knew exactly what Rick was going through. Before his death, Kat didn't think she could ever produce the devastating sounds that had come from her throat, or cry the amount of tears that had seemed like an endless river. Even her husband's death hadn't been comparable._

_ Gulping her seemingly irrational fear of graveyards away, Kat scanned her surroundings and saw a spigot on the far side of the burial ground that poked up through the soil. A bucket dangled from it for people to fill for the purpose of watering flowers. She jogged over to it, trying to ignore the desire to just run away from the forsaken property of death. The rusty valve screeched like nails on a chalkboard as Kat turned the water on and watched a deathly thin trickle dump into the metal bucket._

_ "My piss has more turbulence than this fucking faucet," Kat muttered aloud to herself. She leaned against its iron pipe that was laden with condensation despite the lack of temperature in the air. She thought it would feel cold against her leg, but oddly enough, it didn't._

_ While waiting for the bucket to fill, Kat looked back at the spooky gravestones that made up the necropolis. She gazed down at the nearest duo of markers and read the name of Edward Peletier on the larger grave, which was an ugly brown and obviously cheaply made. Beside it, a smaller stone appropriate for a child had been erected with a more recent date of death; the name of Sophia Peletier was carved into it and Kat assumed this to be the former's daughter. Both indicated that the people occupying them had died of the Walking Death. _

The Walking Death . . ._ Kat thought to herself, suddenly remembering the plague. _Shane called it that . . .

_Another oddity caught Kat's eye; the dates of their deaths seemed to be in the future by a few months or so. It was now the middle of April, or so she thought. These people were listed as deceased more towards the end of the summer._

_ Katharine then wondered if she was dreaming. She just had to be. The lack of her and Rick's shadows, the absence of heat and wind, the mysterious location, the immobile liquid blood on her hands, Rick's parents' deaths, and the idea that she had either blacked out for several months or was foreseeing the future was inconceivable. She shook her head and began silently ordering herself to wake up. Hitting herself on the head didn't work either. Everything felt so real. Usually when she reached out in her sleep while trying to grab something she was dreaming about resulted in her waking up when her body couldn't touch the imaginary item to grasp it. She turned around and wrapped her hands tightly around the little faucet, shaking it gently to try and will her body to move and bring herself out of what she assumed had to be slumber, but she stayed in her dreamland or whatever it was. Even the condensation on the pole of iron didn't loosen the crimson fluid that covered her palms._

_ Frustrated, Kat grabbed the half filled bucket, turned off the faucet, and headed back in Rick's direction._

_ "Is this real?" she called._

_ "Real?" _

_ "Yeah, like, do you think we're dreaming or something?"_

_ "I hope so," Rick wished._

_ "I think we are." When she reached the stone that Rick was still sitting in front of, Kat poured the water gently over the colourful floral arrangement that had been planted around it. "There's just so much unrealistic shit about this place."_

_ "Well if it is a dream, we'll wake up sooner or later," Rick added. He sounded extremely relieved at the new notion that his parents might actually still be alive._

_ Kat walked the empty bucket to its spigot and hung it back up. She took her time returning to Rick's location, pausing several times to study more gravestones. She came across one stone that was shared by two people who had been married in life. On one side was the buried body of Erma Horvath, who had died of cancer several years ago. Her husband, Dale, was beside her, a futuristic victim of a zombie attack._

_ In another lane, Kat found an unreasonably large monument that further reduced her scepticism about the reality of her situation. It belonged to two people who she was vaguely familiar with from news coverage about the plague. Candace Jenner had succumbed to the pestilence, or _would_ at some point in the future due to the date carved on the elaborate headstone. Her husband, Edwin, was apparently going to commit suicide a few weeks after her death. Kat found herself wondering if they would find a cure before the termination of their lives._

_ "Rick?" Kat called from across the lawn._

_ "Yeah?" He could hear in Kat's voice that she was confused by something._

_ "What's the date of death on your parents' gravestone?"_

_ "May 1__st__ of this year." He stood and cocked his head at Kat, puzzled. "Why?"_

_ "I'm pretty sure we're still in April," she replied, sounding just as baffled as she walked by more icons of futuristic deaths. "I've noticed that most of these graves have the time of death listed as in the future."_

_ Rick came toward her, meeting her in the middle of the fresh blacktop path that they had originally met on. "Are you serious?"_

_ "Yeah! What the hell is going on here?"_

_ "Maybe this is a premonition," Rick suggested. "A warning . . ."_

_ "Perhaps," Kat said with a shrug. The thought didn't even cross her mind to ask Rick if he knew anybody named Dale, Edward, or Sophia. "If so, I just find it rather ironic that the deaths are all set in stone, don't you?"_

_ Rick nodded in the midst of deep thought. "Yeah . . . yeah that is ironic."_

_ "This whole place is a big fucking paradox," Kat ranted, thinking of the blood on her hands that just wouldn't come off._

_ "Let's keep walking and get out of here," Rick proposed._

_ "Good idea."_

_ The small road slithered through the graveyard like a stationary snake. Ahead of them, at the very back of the cemetery, Katharine and Rick saw two huge lumps of dirt. Between them were two deep holes that had recently been dug with absolute precision. Just behind the empty crypts were two shiny, jet black tombstones._

_ The two deputies quickened their paces to reach the dark abysses for investigation. They stayed a few feet away for their own safety, neither wanting to fall in and have their strange vision turn into a nightmare of being buried alive._

_ "Oh my God," Rick breathed with horror as he read the words etched on the sparkling monuments._

_ "You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Kat gasped as her vision also focused on the gravestones._

**IN LOVING MEMORY OF  
><strong>**DEPUTY RICHARD TYLER GRIMES  
><strong>**KILLED IN THE LINE OF DUTY  
><strong>**APRIL 15, 2020  
><strong>**AGE 29 YEARS**

**IN LOVING MEMORY OF  
><strong>**DEPUTY KATHARINE AMANDA WALSH  
><strong>**KILLED IN THE LINE OF DUTY  
><strong>**APRIL 15, 2020  
><strong>**AGE 28 YEARS**

_ "You and Shane got married?" Rick suddenly joked with a sly grin plastered on his face. He elbowed his friend in her ribs when he saw her new last name._

_ "No," Kat huffed. "This is a dream, remember!"_

_ "Oh, yeah . . . right."_

_ "It's not supposed to make sense, duh!"_

_ "Well, if this is indeed a premonition . . ." Rick covered his mouth with his hand, suddenly chuckling loudly._

_ "Shut up, man!" Kat snapped. She was red in the face but still giggling._

_ "Yeah, I knew it was gonna happen eventually!" Rick teased. _

_ "Suck it!"_

_ "Where's your wedding ring?" he enquired, now poking her directly in the ribs._

_ Katharine pulled away from the childish tickle, laughing involuntarily. "Screw that, I took it off!"_

_ "Yep, I see where this is going."_

_ "Where?"_

_ Once Kat had pulled away far enough to evade Rick's banter, he put his hands on his belt and gave her a mordant smirk. "You're waiting for Shane to propose!"_

_ "Rick!"_

_ "Admit it!"_

_ "No way!" _

_ Something caught Kat's attention from the corner of her eye. She suddenly realised that she was standing right in front of the open graves and froze when she noticed that they weren't as empty as she had previously assumed._

_ "Umm . . . Rick?"_

_ "Yeah?" he called, still in the midst of amusement._

_ "Come look," she beckoned, pointing into the graves with her bloodied finger._

_ Rick's smile faltered as he stepped forward and peered down into the dark, six foot deep chasms._

_ Inside each hole, Rick and Kat found their lifeless bodies. Rick's deceased form was dressed in his hospital gown with a large bandage wrapped around his midsection to cover the gunshot wound he had received during his shootout. Kat's corpse was still wearing her tan uniform, which was now partially covered in blood from four gunshot wounds—two in her shoulder, one on her side, and another just above her ankle._

_ "Oh my God," Rick rasped, quivering._

_ "This is no dream," Katharine whispered. It was at that moment that the memory of being shot down in the smoky infirmary attacked her mind's eye. She was also reminded of seeing that blonde cop who had been dressed in black with three gold bands on his shoulders. The last thing she remembered was looking right down the barrel of his AR-15._

_ Rick turned to look at his friend and saw the same expression of horror that he knew his face was displaying as well._

_ "What is this?" he demanded fearfully._

_ "Rick, we're dead."  
><em>

* * *

><p>Devastation was the only emotion Deputy Shane Walsh could feel after he left Room 450. He leaned over a sink in the men's bathroom trying to get himself under control. His best friend was gone, and he didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it. Rick's heart monitor had been beeping normally just before the power had gone out. He'd watched Rick's chest rise and fall on its own. Why had his heart stopped, just like that? It made no sense. Yet when he'd put his hand over Rick's nose to feel his breath, put his head on his chest to listen for his beating lifeline, and checked for a pulse, there had been nothing. Mere seconds after electricity powering the hospital had ceased, so had the internal electricity that kept Rick alive.<p>

Just hours earlier, Shane's daughter had lost her battle with the plague. Now, he'd lost the man who was figuratively his twin brother to a power outage. Sobs wracked his exhausted form, bringing him to his knees while still clinging to the white sink. He just couldn't take it anymore. He began to feel that maybe Dorian had been right about him being a shitty father. Maybe he was just as shitty of a friend. Shane wondered what he could have done differently as emotion controlled him, breaking him, tormenting his body until he cried harder than he had ever cried before. It all came out through his eyes which spilled his salty tears onto the smooth tile floor, skewing his vision into nothing more than a grey blur. Shane felt the mental earthquakes shatter throughout his mind and body, stimulating the volcano of destruction to erupt another poisonous spew of rage, resentment, and coldness. The fiery mountain vomited fresh magma over what had already cooled and dried, covering his psychological landscape's scar tissue yet again with volcanic blood.

Shane wondered just how many more people he was going to lose before this plague blew over. It seemed like everyone he knew had lost at least one close family member or friend by now and the escalating death toll wasn't showing any signs of giving up its dramatic numbers. Maybe the human species really was destined to go extinct. After what mankind had done to Mother Nature, nobody could blame her for becoming pissed and exacting revenge. He just hoped that he could protect what was left of his family, friends, and police department and that good ole Mother Nature would take note of how anal he was about turning lights off and cut him a break.

In the midst of his emotional release, Shane felt a soft pawing on his back through his bulletproof vest. His outburst almost prevented him from noticing it until whatever was behind him latched onto his utility belt and began to weakly yank on it. Tears ceased immediately as Shane yelped and spun around while getting up on his feet, gun already in hand and pointed at the ground. Before him on the floor was the most pitiful walker he'd seen yet. The sticky carcass was so eaten up that he couldn't even tell if it had been a male or female in life. Its lips and nose had been chewed off and any hair that the person once had was gone. The only recognisable muscle mass it had left was in its arms and around its jaws. All of the organs below the zombie's ribcage except for its bloody lumbar spine were nowhere in sight. Only a few strings of mutilated muscle remained for the corpse to pick up its partially decapitated head. Apparently this person had been so tasty that the walkers who had devoured him or her just couldn't bring themselves to leave their prey with a stomach or a larynx. As his startled state subsided, Shane wondered if the zombie was even hungry. It wouldn't have been able to swallow anyways. The necrotic being couldn't even rasp one of the stereotypical zombie moans due to its lack of a voice box.

Using a bullet on this particular carrion just wasn't worth it. It was falling apart so badly that he didn't even consider it a danger. Shane wiped his eyes and stepped over the gangrenous spoliation, leaving it to find its own way out of its misery.

Looking down at his watch, Shane saw that he'd been in the bathroom blubbering for over twelve minutes. Suddenly remembering Kat and her father, he darted back into the hallway and down the smoky corridor leading to the sanatorium's rear emergency exit. He passed Rick's room again and silently prayed that the gurney he'd placed against its doorjamb would stay put. He dodged several walkers that rushed towards his living form but chose not to kill them due to his nearly empty clip. Outside, Shane observed a storm rolling in. Darkened spots of concrete littered the outdoor stairwell and the parking lot as he made his way toward the command post he had been at earlier. Luckily, the snipers had kept the area surrounding the hospital cleaned up; no walkers were in sight.

The sudden shriek of a siren firing up from the left caught Shane's attention, startling him as he power walked toward the fenced in area where his car was parked. He looked over and watched an ambulance rush out of the parking lot followed immediately by a white Mercedes-Benz GLK350. He recognised the latter vehicle as Dorian Chambers' SUV. Sergeant Ring then flew down a side street from the direction of the command post in his marked Ford Expedition, red and blue gumballs flickering. He then took off in the direction of the ambulance.

_That's odd . . ._ Shane thought to himself as he continued his fast pace. _None of the other ambulances used lights and sirens to transport patients because it would have attracted the zombies. _A sick feeling then came over him as a new thought crossed his mind. _Oh shit, I hope one of our officers isn't bitten . . . Nah, can't be. They would have broadcast that over the radio as a Signal 100._

Immediately following the sergeant was one of the police cars that the King County SRT squad had brought to the hospital. Shane observed Jason Crandall and Lam Kendal inside. Then, just as quickly, Chief Delila Richey went flying past them in her own black and white Expedition, following the same direction as the ambulance as if trying to catch up with it. Bringing up the rear of the hurried motorcade were the other officers from Atlanta Police Department.

_Dorian got out, thank God. Kat must be over there waiting for me in the car!_ Shane began to jog in the direction where he knew he'd find his car parked. A few stray zombies were sauntering dumbly out of the neighbourhood, most likely in response to the siren's wail and in search of food. He rushed into the gate and towards his car's passenger side door. Opening it, Shane panicked when he didn't see Kat in the driver's seat. Gurgling growls honed in on Shane as the ravenous walkers targeted him. He climbed in from the passenger side to avoid the oncoming ambush, pulled its blue door shut, and crawled into the driver's seat. Another wave of dread shrouded him when his hand instinctively reached for the ignition in search of keys, finding nothing but an empty lock. Katharine hadn't left the keys in the car.

Walkers swarmed the car from all sides, their hot breaths fogging the windows as they pressed their rotten faces against the glass barriers. They snarled and shoved themselves against the immobile interceptor as Shane frantically checked the visors and centre console for a spare key. As they began slamming their open palms against the vehicle, some kind of mysterious intuition much like an inner voice told him to check the glove box. Why, he didn't know, for it usually only contained registration and insurance information along with extra pads of citation forms. But he opened the compartment anyways. Much to his surprise, a snub-nosed black revolver was laying right on top of the usual papers alongside a speed loader and a single key.

It was Rick Grimes' off duty concealed carry weapon, fully loaded. Shane grabbed the key and with his shaking hand, jammed it into the ignition and started the car. Agitation from the zombies grew, and when he looked around, Shane noticed that there were more of them now; if he tried to move the vehicle, he would end up running them over and risk getting the Crown Victoria stuck on their bodies.

_How did this get in here?_ Shane wondered as he picked up Rick's gun and speed loader. _Rick never brought this; he always kept it in his locker when he was at work. _The little Smith & Wessen held six shots, and with the speed loader, he had a total of twelve. Remembering the pistol on his belt, he knew he had four left in there too. There were enough rounds to clear a path for him to get out.

Shane rolled the window down just enough to aim the pistol without the zombies gaining entry. As soon as the corpses caught a whiff of the fresh scent of living flesh, their pounding increased in its intensity. Rotten blood spattered on Shane's forehead once the first bullet finished off the closest zombie that had already tried to reach in. He blinked and wiped the toxic liquid away to prevent it from dripping into his eyes, as he assumed it would give the virus easy access to his bloodstream. Three more zombies made a try for him before suffering the same fate. He then switched to Rick's revolver, rolled the window down a bit more to get his arm out, and shot at the ones blocking the front of his vehicle. Though most of the slugs didn't hit the intended targets of reanimated brains, they did manage to blast the carcasses far enough back that they wouldn't get caught under the tires. Once a path was cleared, Shane threw the gear into drive and spun around to escape the fenced area. He raced out and sped hectically around the corner towards the emergency room. He figured that's where Kat would be and just hoped that she was alive.

As he ran through the ER checking individual rooms, Shane suddenly remembered his radio. He should have thought of that before.

"2347 to 238," he spoke hurriedly into the walkie-talkie.

He paused, placing both hands against the sides of his head to block out the sounds of gunfire and growling as he listened for a response in his earpiece.

"238?" he tried again, fear heightening as the seconds passed.

Zombies spotted him through the dissipating smoke as he stood before the inactive lifts that his family had used to access the morgue. He ran towards the front desk, out of their sights, and decided to try calling out to Sergeant Ring.

"1835?" Shane's worried voice asked into the radio as he kept his eyes moving about in search of walkers.

The old MARCS radio was as silent as a catacomb . . . or as silent as one should be, anyways.

"1835?" he repeated, wondering what was wrong. He finally looked down and checked the device; the battery was dead. He'd forgotten to charge it the previous day because he hadn't expected to be called into work. Now, with all of the panic and adrenaline domineering him, he didn't even think to run back out to the police cruiser and try again with the car's radio, or think to follow the ambulance and its motorcade of police cars. Even if he had thought of it, he wouldn't have known where they were going in the event that the radios had been silenced.

All that was on Shane's mind was that he had to find Kat. He had no idea why she hadn't come outside, especially after seeing Dorian leave the parking lot, and his worst fears were once again kicking into overdrive. Only the undead responded as Shane again darted through the ER calling Kat's name. He noticed a telephone lying in the middle of the waiting room that had been ripped out of the wall. His heart sunk; Kat was known for throwing phones when she was angry. She'd gone through about ten mobile phones in the years that he'd known her and several landline telephones that she'd thrown out of anger after engaging in a verbal argument with people on the other end.

Shane's wrecked heart told him that Kat had been in here and that she was responsible for the communication device's fate. He looked down the opposite hallway and found it vacant of the walking dead.

_Perhaps she used the phone to call her father since she couldn't use the elevator, then came back upstairs looking for me,_ he guessed. Shane then mentally kicked himself for going into the bathroom and breaking down. What if she was still up there? What if she had gotten bit?

Shane was sprinting down the empty corridor before he even realised it. He ran around the hospital until he found the staircase closest to where Rick's room was; little did he know that he'd ran right by the one that Kat had used to get back upstairs. The smoke on this floor was copious, but it was slowly beginning to clear.

The first sight to greet Shane was a group of zombies gutting a pale nurse with their bony hands and teeth. They chewed her innards without manners; it was just another piece of evidence pointing towards the deceased state of the infection. Shane wanted to gag, not just at the sight but also because the creatures masticated like cows as they ate. Forcing the urge away to prevent distracting them, he swallowed hard and darted through a pair of double doors. Before him, an army officer was spray painting the doors of the cafeteria quarantine room while his partner secured them with heavy chains. "DON'T OPEN DEAD INSIDE" was drawn to warn anyone away. It was obvious to Shane that now the military had run out of bullets too.

Luckily, the gurney that Shane had propped up against Rick's door was still there. It was hardly a relief, but at least his best friend hadn't been found by the dead. A few hallways later, Shane was again blanketed with white smoke. As he began to involuntarily cough in response, his shoes found a slippery substance on the floor. Shane wiped out as his feet skidded from beneath him. He cringed with ire as his elbow slammed into the floor, and only when the twinge of impacting his funny bone subsided did he realise that he had taken the spill right into a puddle of bright crimson blood.

This blood was not from a walker; that much was obvious. Corpses bled black, grey, and dark shades of sick brownish burgundy. This was fresh and red with the intensity of an adrenaline psyched individual. Clearly, whoever's blood this was had come from someone who was either fighting the dead or running from them.

Flinching, Shane sat up and rubbed his throbbing elbow. His uniform was now soaked with the messy lifeline, and he hoped that one of the soldiers wouldn't spot him and assume he had been bitten. As he looked around him for a dry spot of linoleum to push himself back onto his feet, he noticed something shiny trying to catch his attention through the haze. Curious, he reached down into the puddle and picked it up. It was a seven-point, gold sheriff deputy's badge.

Horror in the most painful degree shot through Shane's already desolated heart like a bullet, shattering it into another million figurative pieces. He began to visibly shake as he stared at the metallic star, reading its engravings over and over again, not wanting to believe what it said.

**Deputy Sheriff  
>238<br>****King County Sheriff's Department**

Kat's officer number was 238. Every deputy had their personal number engraved into their badges. It belonged to her, there was no doubt. And Shane's heart told him that the little badge was covered in its owner's blood.

"Kat . . . no . . ." Shane whined, his tears already falling faster than a suicidal maniac going over Niagara Falls. He didn't want to believe it. It was just such a shock. His mind raced with questions and fear. Where was she? Had she been eaten by walkers? Where was her body? Did she resurrect already? Was she running around, bleeding out, and trying to hide or seek help? Was she already eating someone else? Was she going to eat him?

The most gruesome questions made him wish he was dead too. His heart broke into smaller and smaller pieces, knowing that whatever the answers were, Kat had to be deceased. Her blood was everywhere, and it didn't look like she would have enough left to sustain her own life. He saw smears through the fog where she had thrashed about or tried to get up, possibly while she fought off a zombie or attempted to run from one. The idea that she had been shot didn't even cross his mind. Katharine wasn't stupid enough to allow such a thing to happen, and even if she was, she had the protection of her vest. All Shane could think about were the zombies, and even as he tried to calm himself and push the thoughts away, the old hallucination of Kat as a hungry, lipless corpse began to manifest itself before him.

At first, Shane thought it was real. He yelped and slapped his hand out at the vision, only to feel his palm brush through the cloud of gunpowder. Perhaps it was some higher power psychically revealing to him that Kat's transformation into a zombie was now complete. Shane backed away, desperately shouting Katharine's name without realising it as he skidded clumsily through her spilled blood, trying to escape the atrocious apparition.

Eventually the ghostly zombie morphed into a real one. The rotten redhead crawled through the smog on her hands and knees, practically grinning as she laid her hungry green eyes on Shane. The resurrected carrion lashed out at him with hands that still bore dark blue nail polish, slipping in the puddle as he continued to scurry away from it. He finally found a dry patch of floor and propped himself up on his palms just long enough to kick the putrid woman in the teeth before standing and darting down the hallway. He looked back, and although he couldn't see the diseased predator through the smoke, he could hear her. She snarled and hissed with rage at losing her prey, but Shane was gone before she had a chance to find him again.

Clutching the bloody badge and still sobbing from his broken heart, Shane found the stairwell again and exited into the emergency room where more dangers awaited him. As he was about to pass through the broken automatic doors to his car, he saw an entire horde of about fifteen walkers approaching from mere metres away. A few soldiers began emptying the last of their rounds into the group, but they had surrounded the car before Shane had a chance to make a try for it.

Unthinking, Shane ran back through the sick bay and once again found sunlight through the emergency exit that he had used earlier to escape. He trotted around to the front of the infirmary, his paced slowed from his hyperventilating lungs that were doing a very poor job of coping with the loss of what he knew to be his soul mate. Shane just couldn't believe it. He refused to believe it. Although rationale was telling him that Katharine Burke had to be dead, his heart wanted to stick to the vague hope that somehow she had survived. He didn't know why, but that hope just kept nagging at him.

All he knew was that he needed to get back to the police station and ask Sergeant Ring what was going on. If anyone knew, it would be him. Shane knew that the sergeant cared a lot about Kat. Although he was part of the Shane/Rick/Kat brotherhood, Shane suspected that Sergeant Ring had a crush on Kat. And if anything had happened to her, he would also be crushed.

Since there were no cars around aside from military vehicles, Shane headed towards the fire department on Highland Avenue hoping he could hitch a ride with one of the civilians who had come to pick up a patient from Harrison Memorial Hospital. Surely, there would still be plenty waiting over there. Salty tears stung his swollen eyes as the memory of what he had just discovered played out over and over again in his mind's eye.

Dodging permanently deceased bodies and debris, Shane jogged stupidly through the open streets in his blood soaked uniform that reeked of iron and dying life. Walkers turned their heads in his direction, interested in the scent. As he ran, the promise that Katharine had made to him suddenly sparked up a new thought in his mind. She _had_ pledged to him that she would survive this, no matter what. Kat was a survivor. After all, he hadn't seen any chunks of fresh meat in the puddle of blood that would indicate that she had been devoured. Then again, with all the smoke and adrenaline pumping through his veins, he may have just been unable to see it.

"Shane!" a female voice called from the packed parking lot as he approached. He focused his blurred eyes in the direction it was coming from and saw Lori Grimes standing just outside her old Ford Explorer, clinging to its rusty, navy blue door.

"Lori! Can you help me? I need a ride. . ."

"What happened to you?" the long-haired brunette demanded, her voice strong but laden with intense worry. "Where's Rick?"

Shane trotted over to her, out of breath, and overwhelmed with emotion. He wasn't used to experiencing such crushing feelings, especially all at once. He wasn't a crier or someone who showed pain. But even the strongest of men would find it impossible to hide or bury their devastation of the poignant events of these past few days.

"Lori, I . . ." Shane wheezed, trying to get his stressed lungs under control. "I'm fine. Rick . . . Lori . . . Kat's dead."

"Where's Rick?" she snapped again.

Shane opened his mouth to speak, but once again found himself besieged as his mental stability and heart continued to experience their invisible and inevitable destruction. The image of Lori was distorted by his tears, even after it seemed like he had none left to cry.

"Kat . . . Rick . . ." Shane sobbed. "He's . . . they're . . . I'm sorry, Lori . . ."

"What?" Lori practically shouted, her eyes bulging and her mouth gaping. "Shane, where is my husband?"

"He's . . . he's gone . . . so is Kat."

Lori was silent for a long moment, clearly enveloped in a state of shock and disbelief.

"How?" she eventually asked, her voice eerily calm.

"The power went out," Shane gulped after pausing to search for words and catch a breath. "His life support . . . it . . . ran on electricity. I . . . I didn't find a pulse. Kat . . . she . . ."

"Why didn't you get him out sooner?" Lori suddenly exploded with rage. "Rick was my husband and you just let him die?"

"Lori, I . . ."

"How could you let this happen?" she ranted, cutting him off. "Now I have to live the life of a widow, and my son has to grow up without a father! Do you have _any_ idea what that's like? No, Shane, you don't! That was my husband! I loved . . . _love_ . . . my husband! He was _your best friend_, Shane, and you let him _die_!"

"Lori, what the hell?" Shane shot back, his hyperventilating lungs taking a break to allow him to yell in anger. "You think I wanted this to happen? You think I had it easy in that hospital, with zombies come'n at me from every direction? You think I knew the power was gonna go out, that his life support was gonna fail, or that any of this fuck'n shit was gonna happen? Is that what you think?"

Lori simply glared at him, her eyes filled with absolute hatred and ire.

"And for your information, _yes_, I _do_ know what all that is like. Since you obviously weren't hearing me before, or just didn't care, I'll say it again. Kat's dead! I lost my daughter this morning to this fuck'n disease! Does any of _that_ mean anything to you? So now I have to go on without the love of _my_ life, too! Stop thinking about yourself Lori and quit thinking you're the only one in this fuck'n world who's lost somebody. Rick was my _best friend_, my brother! I would have given my own life for that man! I lost my daughter, I lost the woman who was about to become my _wife_, and now I've lost _him_!"

The rage that was plastered on Mrs. Grimes' face softened slightly as she lowered her gaze to stare at the dark grey pavement beneath her feet.

"All I have left in my life now are what's left of my family. My twins and my baby . . . and I'm all they have. Aside from them, I have _nothing else_ to live for."

"Where are they?" Lori suddenly wondered, distantly. She sounded as if she didn't even care.

"They're at Kat's house, with her uncle."

Lori's narrowed brown eyes shot back up to meet Shane's bloodshot glare.

"Well if that's the case, you better get back there. I drove by her house on the way up here. There were walkers all around the area, and I noticed her front door was wide open . . ."

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><p><strong>HEY READERS . . . I need to know a few things before I post again:<strong>

**1. How far do you want me to take this Shane/Lori part of the story?** I wasn't planning on taking it too far because I feel the TV show did enough of that, but if you guys want me to run with it, I will. I'm just thinking that it would help explain how and why Shane turned into the obsessive asshole that he did, BUT if you guys don't want me to explain his transformation via interaction with Lori, I will happily do so another way! There will need to be some interaction, but how much of it will probably depend on what the readers want.

**2. What do YOU THINK is going to happen and what do YOU WANT to see happen?** While I do have a lot of future scenes written and/or planned, I am really interested in hearing your predictions and hopes! I know everyone is going to want their own thing, for the people that I've let read this story that I know in person are all hoping and predicting different things, lol. Just an FYI, I am not planning on using the answers that I get to this question to write exactly what you want to have happen (this is a story of suspense, after all). I am going to use the answers to help get more ideas churning in my brain. :)

**PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW AND LET ME KNOW! Pretty please? :3**

**Remember, the more reviews I get, the faster I update! **

Do you have any suggestions, ideas, comments, or critiques? Pairings you'd like to see? Characters you would like to see zombified or just flat out eaten alive? Suggest away in your review! :)

_**My Zombie Valentine**_ copyright © **28 March 2012** by _**Darkinyron**_

_**The Walking Dead **_copyright © _**Robert Kirkman**_


	6. Resurrection

**MY ZOMBIE VALENTINE  
><strong>**By: Darkinyron**

Just to let everyone know, this is going to be the last chapter that takes place before the TV show begins.

In case you're wondering, this story's image thing is a picture of me as a zombie! For Halloween, I was the victim of a homicide. Some asshole shot me in the heart . . . from behind! How mean! Anyways I didn't like that too much so I came back to life and got revenge on that idiot by eating him. He was yummy. LOL XD

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><p><strong>~ CHAPTER 6 ~<strong>

**RESURRECTION**

CONVERSATION WAS FUTILE as Lori Grimes travelled down the vast stretch of county roads en route to Katharine Burke's residence. Muffled snivelling was the only noise aside from the old Ford Explorer's engine, which didn't sound any happier than Lori, Shane, and Carl were. Shane's confusion, devastation, and lack of a plan grew out of control within his mind, causing the toxic wastes spewing from his internal volcano to overwhelm his ability to think rationally.

Just minutes ago, Shane had walked into the King County Sheriff's Department to find it completely deserted. Sergeant Ring and the others from the SRT were gone, as were the other deputies that were on general duty that day. Even the dispatchers and detectives had abandoned their posts. A note from Sheriff Everhart had been taped to the station's locked front entry doors informing people that due to the plague, the building had been evacuated and emergency services had been shut down indefinitely. It advised civilians to leave the county immediately and head for one of Atlanta's many refugee centres, where safety would be guaranteed.

Using a key to get in, Shane had gathered what he could from the department. He had picked up a couple rifles, several boxes of ammo, a new portable MARCS radio, and an inter-department police scanner. He'd left most of the weapons in case any of the other deputies came back in search of defence mechanisms. Hoping that he would be able to pick up radio traffic from Sergeant Ring and the SWAT team, Shane had brought the communication equipment along and was now clinging to it for dear life, praying that he would miraculously hear Kat's voice call out to him through the mechanical device.

Yet as he sat in the passenger seat of the Grimes family's SUV, the only voices he heard were those of Lori and Carl as they mourned the loss of Rick by whimpering. While Shane was in the police station, Lori had waited in the car with her son and explained to him what had happened to his father. When he'd returned, he found the little boy hugging his mom and going through his own distressing fit of rage and incredulity. Now, after witnessing the young preteen's pain and loss of emotional control, Shane found himself wondering how in the world he was going to break the news to his own children that their mother had been killed in the line of duty.

Even though Lori had been clear with him that Kat's front door had apparently been wide open and her house surrounded by the walking dead when she drove by, Shane refused to consider the worst. Katharine's uncle was a former marine who had fought in Afghanistan. If he could defeat heavily armed, wicked, scheming terrorists that used their desert environment to their advantage, he could sure as hell handle brain dead humans that were hanging around in the open.

Then again, he had also assumed that Kat could easily handle herself against an army of zombies, but he had ostensibly been wrong about that.

"I'm sorry about Kat," Carl's vacillating voice echoed from the back seat. It was enough to bring Shane out of his advancing level of stress, albeit momentarily. "I'm gonna miss her."

Shane glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge the freckled boy, whose bright blue eyes were quickly becoming as swollen and bloodshot as his own.

"Me too, little man," Shane struggled, his face screwing up as he forced himself to speak. "Me too . . . More than you will ever know."

"She's in a better place, Shane," Carl snivelled with a brisk nod, trying to convince not only Shane but himself as well.

"I hope so," Shane cringed, suddenly hating the idea that Katharine's spirit might have been reunited with her ex-husband. Why that thought in particular had invaded his already wasted mind, Shane had no idea, but he loathed it. Kat was his woman, not anyone else's.

"She's with my dad now," Carl continued. "They went up to Heaven together. So at least they didn't die alone."

Lori wiped her eyes and looked up in her rear view mirror. She smiled briefly at the boy, who was still holding on to his young innocence, and seemed to take comfort in his words. Shane noticed and concluded that he would take comfort in them as well. He figured that if she had to choose between hanging out with ghost Rick Grimes and ghost Steven Burke, she'd choose Rick in a heartbeat.

"They'll stick together, up there," Carl said reassuringly. "They're best friends, you know. They're gonna watch over us so nothing bad happens to us. Right, Mom?"

Lori's thin lips clenched together as she tried hard to wrestle away her emotions. "That's right, sweetie."

"And we're gonna see them both again soon," Carl added before taking a paper towel out of the SUV's engine fluid supply crate to empty his nose with. "When we die, they'll be there waiting for us."

"I'd give anything to see her again, to talk to her again, to bring her back to life . . ." Shane murmured, drifting off. "Rick, too."

"Me too," Carl whined. "But we can't bring them back to life. Bad things happen when people die and come back to life."

Lori glanced up in the rear view mirror again and silently formed her own opinion of what her son had just said. She wanted to say something, but found herself at a loss for words.

Shane suddenly found himself wondering more about Kat's death. Had she suffered for very long? How painful had it been? Was she even dead? Was she a zombie? Was her soulless cadaver busy severing the meat off of some screaming victim's bones right now? If so, how long would her zombie wander around infecting the living? Would a survivor find her and bash her skull into a soupy pulp with a baseball bat like Kat had done to the walkers who had attacked Erin? Or would that survivor have a heart of humanity and execute her quickly with a bullet? What would he do if he ever found Kat's zombie? Would he have it in him to kill her decomposing revenant or would he still see her rotten corpse as the woman he loved?

Despite the seemingly millions of questions that were racing throughout Shane's scattered mind, one never showed up that caused him to ask himself if Katharine had possibly suffered a fate other than death at the hands of the walking dead.

Guilt was not a strong enough emotion to describe how he felt about letting Kat die. His mind replayed the day's events over and over again, torturing him. He felt as if he had murdered her, albeit indirectly, by letting her run off and separate herself from him. He _knew_ it had been a stupid idea. Common sense had told him that when she first suggested it. So why the fuck had his rationale failed him by making him think that she would be okay on her own?

Because he had gotten so excited and overwhelmed with elation when Katharine Burke finally, after six long years, told him that she loved him. His heart had filled with joy in that moment, causing him to feel invincible, like he could conquer an entire planet's worth of walkers. That was why he had temporarily gone deaf to the suggestions of his common sense and basic instincts.

Before he had time to beat himself up any further, Lori turned onto the street that Kat lived on. The normally small, yet private, community had become a warzone. There weren't as many walkers as he'd initially feared, though many had already been put down by the military and other citizens and were lying in the streets. People looked busy packing vehicles with clothes and other travelling essentials, their eyes darting about frantically in search of the deceased dangers. A military transport destined for a refugee centre in Atlanta was parked on a corner with a sign saying it would only accept passengers who didn't have a vehicle of their own. It advised people to pack light, giving a false impression that this problem would all be over in the blink of an eye. Shane knew better. The plague was everywhere, and it hadn't even been a month since its first victim had succumbed to it.

"What are we going to do?" Lori asked as she navigated the old Ford around the bodies littering the road.

"I don't know," Shane sighed heavily. "We can't stay in our houses, apparently. Everyone's leaving."

"Carl and I were going to head to that refugee centre," Lori explained. "The bags in the back are full of our clothes." She pointed over her shoulder; Shane glanced around and noticed the large black garbage bags behind Carl and a few boxes beside him that were filled with shampoo and other necessities. "We even packed clothes for Rick," Lori sighed sadly. "We figured we'd pack them just in case he woke up before all this blows over."

"You should still go," Shane replied. "Kat and I would have packed up and left for one of those places, but with our jobs and all . . ."

"Why don't you come with us?" Lori suggested. "We can all wait it out there, and when things get better, you can come back and take care of the funeral and everything. At least we'd have each other, given that we're friends and all. Rick and Kat would want us to stay with people we know to watch each other's backs and support each other. Carl brought along some of his games and schoolwork so your kids will have someone to play with."

"Yeah, maybe," Shane grumbled. He didn't like the idea of leaving the privacy and peace that his home provided. The idea of having hundreds of people crammed into a tiny area in the middle of summer while he was trying to mourn the loss of his soul mate and hopefully raise his children as a single father made his stomach turn. "Let's just see what's going on first."

When Kat's bluish-grey house came into view and Shane saw its door wide open, his fear for his children's lives almost caused him to jump out of the moving vehicle to run to them. Sprawled across Kat's driveway was a dead walker whom neither of them recognised. The corpse looked as if he'd been shot in the back of the head by someone facing the same direction they were driving, causing him to face-plant onto the recently paved blacktop. Lori pulled up to the curb, not wanting to run the departed man over or risk driving into the ditch. As she parked the vehicle, Shane noticed that the walker's blistered skin was cracking and burning in the intense sunlight. It was as if the human version of a pig roast was going on in Kat's driveway.

"Rob?" Shane shouted at the top of his lungs as he bolted from the car. He made a beeline for the open front door.

"Shane, be careful!" Lori called as she stepped out, hesitating when she noticed a few zombies turn their heads in the direction of Shane's voice. "Carl, stay in the car!" she ordered before trotting after him.

"Rob?" Shane called again. He drew his gun as he entered the house and held it in front of him, adrenaline rushing through him as his heart raced. Inside, he discovered Kat's once welcoming and pristinely clean house ransacked as if someone had committed a burglary. Had it not been for the horrific red splatter and trails of blood all over the house, a burglary would have been his first guess.

Shane was already making his way through the living room and into the kitchen, still calling the name of Katharine's uncle, Rob, when Lori entered. He was thankful to find the door leading to the back yard still secured.

"Oh my God," she gasped upon seeing the blood. "The walkers!"

"Just stay at the front door and keep a lookout!" Shane barked, panic striking him when he saw a mess of blood in the kitchen sink. Due to the large, masculine handprints made in blood that surrounded the sink, it was easy to conclude that someone—probably Kat's uncle—had been leaning over the sink as blood poured out of him. His CSI side kicked in automatically, causing Shane's mind to play out a crime scene reconstruction of Erin's zombie savagely sinking her small teeth into Uncle Rob's neck, clamping on to his tender flesh, and twisting and tightening her diseased mouth against his undoubted thrashing until his carotid artery had been cleaved, splashing blood all over the walls in idiot shapes.

The terrifying mental image turned Shane's stomach until he keeled over on the kitchen floor, gagged, and watched what was left of his mostly digested McDonald's breakfast burrito spill into what was potentially his uncle-in-law's blood.

"Shane?" Lori yelled in response to the noise of his barfing.

"I'm all right," he choked. "Just stay there!"

Once he was able to get back up on his feet, he bolted up the stairs, ignoring the trembling in his knees. When he found the upstairs devoid of life as well, he wondered if he was supposed to feel relieved or even worse.

His answer came when he looked into his son's crib and found bloodied handprints on the Sesame Street sheets. The handprints seemed to match the shape of the ones he'd seen on and around the kitchen sink, but what peaked his curiosity was the lack of a blood trail on the floor. If the patent prints had indeed come from the blood gushing Rob Chambers, he would have expected to find evidence of where it had dripped as he walked around. These prints were bright, but faint, and most were incomplete. The hands of whoever had handled his now fourteen month old son were too masculine to have been made by Kat. Her fingers were long and bony, but still clearly feminine.

"Bloody hands . . ." Shane murmured aloud without even realising it.

More of the bloodied prints covered the handles of Kat's drawers, most of which were nearly empty and left open. He also found them in the twins' bedroom in the same areas. Oddly enough, the upstairs bathroom seemed to have been left untouched. The family's toothbrushes, medical supplies, soaps, and towels were still in their usual spots. Even Kat's asthma inhaler was still in there. She would never leave the house for a long period of time without her vital Albuterol. Shane found it odd that someone packing wouldn't think to include toothpaste and other cleaning essentials in a suitcase. He searched both rooms for a note or any sign of something that the person may have left for him, but came up empty-handed.

"Walkers!" Lori suddenly shouted again from her post. "Shane, they're coming!"

Shane found the loaded revolver he had used to shoot the walker who'd scratched Erin on its usual resting place beside Kat's bed and ran back downstairs with it.

"Here, take this!" he said, shoving the little black gun against Lori's chest. He then pushed her behind him and took position in the doorway; six of the undead were staggering towards them, teeth bared and eager to spread the virus.

"My aim isn't good enough!" Lori protested as she inspected the little Taurus .357 that had Katharine's name engraved on either side of it. "I'll waste it!"

"Just keep it on you at all times!" Having had plenty of practice at the hospital, it didn't take much effort for Shane to execute the small group of approaching walkers using Rick's off-duty handgun.

"Any sign of them?" Lori wondered after the immediate dangers had been put to death.

"I can't find them anywhere," Shane whined, speaking quickly. "I don't know where they are. The baby isn't in his crib 'n the kids aren't in their rooms. Yet there're drawers pulled out 'n clothes missing. The baby's diaper packs are gone. Even Kat's clothes are missing, but the bathroom stuff is all still up there. There're bloody handprints upstairs."

"Bloody handprints?"

"Yeah, they were made by whoever took everything."

"They must have escaped then, before the . . ."

"No," Shane cringed sternly. "The kitchen sink . . . it's filled . . . covered with blood. It . . . it looks like someone was leaning over it 'n bleeding out from the neck or something."

"Then why would all the clothes be gone? And where is Rob? If he hasn't bled to death and took the kids then why is his car still in the driveway? Or who's car is that, anyways?"

Shane looked outside and noticed another thing that just wasn't right. Rob Chambers' car, a sparkling blue Hyundai Equus, was indeed in the driveway, but Kat's black Ford Escape was not.

"That Equus _is_ Rob's," Shane told her. "Kat's Escape is gone though. She left it here because we took my Jeep into work this morning."

"Then maybe Rob took it," Lori suggested.

"He wouldn't have," Shane said, shaking his head to emphasise. "Kat's SUV is a manual. Rob couldn't figure out how to drive a stick shift if his life depended on it."

Lori rolled her eyes. "Well then maybe someone looted the place and stole the car."

"I doubt that," Shane grumbled. "Like I said, Kat's clothes are gone. So are the kids' clothes. Someone packed in a rush and left. And I know it wasn't Kat who did this because I saw how much of her blood was in that hospital. I found her badge in the blood. I know it was hers. Even if it wasn't, she wouldn't leave without telling me. I know her. Even during our worst fights and separations, she kept in contact with me. She wouldn't do something like this."

"Then maybe her father . . ."

"No, I seen him leaving the hospital in his own vehicle. He wouldn't abandon his Mercedes in favour of a Ford. Trust me on that one."

Again, Lori rolled her eyes. Some people just didn't know how to let go of their materialistic behaviours.

"The military?" she wondered.

"Come on, Lori. The military ain't gonna steal clothes and a car."

"If it wasn't Rob that left and he bled out, where is his body?"

Shane felt the blood drain from his face in response to her disgustingly blunt, yet rational question.

"I'm . . . I'm gonna assume that he . . . he didn't put Erin down and she . . . bit him," Shane stuttered.

"What?"

"Erin died this morning. She was scratched by a walker the other day. We thought she was gonna make it . . ."

Lori lowered her head and fell silent as Shane paused for a while. He then forced himself to speak once more.

"Kat called her Uncle Rob to come babysit the kids when we got the SRT callout this morning, right after she passed. We . . . we both tried to pull the trigger . . . but neither of us could find it in us to do that to our little girl. When Rob came over, he offered to do it for us. Kat told him to do it before she resurrected . . . because that way, she wouldn't feel any pain. Even as a . . . zombie . . . we didn't want her to feel any pain . . ."

Shane broke down at that point, falling to his knees and covering his face with his hands.

"Shane, it wasn't her anymore. You have to remember that. These walkers are just shells of the people they once were. What once made them human is long gone," Lori said tenderly.

"But . . . but we don't know what they feel or what it's like to be a walker. Kat's father said that part of their brain comes back to life."

"Shane, I don't believe that," Lori openly disagreed. "There can't be brain activity if a person is deceased."

"Well her father's a doctor and we spoke with him. He's been researching them and he said they have brain activity. The point is, Lori, we don't know if zombies feel pain or not. If they do, my daughter would have felt that bullet go through her skull, even if it did mean instant death, and even if her soul is departed. And what if it hadn't been instant death? We couldn't bear the thought of it."

"I understand," Lori murmured, unsure if she meant it or not. In her mind, dead was dead and there could be no in-between.

"We should try to find Rob," Shane suggested several minutes later, after he was able to get himself refocused. "I _need_ to find my children."

"I don't think that's a good idea. The dead are everywhere and we shouldn't . . ."

"Lori, I have to know. These are _my children_. If we don't find him at least I will know that he got them out of the house and to safety."

"But if he was bit he may have died and . . ."

"Mom?" Carl's wobbly voice suddenly shouted from across the lawn. Lori and Shane whipped their heads to face his direction and found him in the midst of stepping out of the SUV.

"Carl, I told you to stay in the car!" Lori hissed irritably.

"But . . ." the little boy trailed off, his head pointed in another direction and a look of sheer sadness plastered on his face. "Mom, look!"

Shane and Lori's eyes followed his gaze over to the adjacent front yard of Katharine's neighbour. Lori's hand fell over her mouth when she recognised the little zombie scuffling towards them. Shane froze as his overly exhausted mind tried to comprehend what his eyes were seeing.

Erin Burke's sunken face and pyjamas were covered in fresh blood. Its crimson hue glistened metallically in the ostentatious sunlight, accentuating her pale Aryan features. Her curly blonde hair, which had been so neatly brushed for a peaceful burial after she had passed away, was now jutting in all directions, defying gravity as the majority of it was clumped with hardened blood and remnants of human meat. Her once soft blue eyes had adopted a yellow glow from the pooled blood that had begun to decay in them, forever fogging the windows to her soul. As she hobbled towards Lori and the man she once called Daddy, she stopped and lifted a severed limb that was undoubtedly the arm of a child much smaller than herself to her mouth and sunk her bloodstained teeth into its tender flesh.

Although he couldn't be sure, Shane immediately feared that one of his younger children was being eaten by his or her half sister. That anxiety, which was more of a subconscious assumption, wasn't farfetched; after all, he had no idea where his other children were, and it seemed like most of the other residents of Fox Run Avenue had already hit the road. Most of Katharine's neighbours were elderly anyways, and their children were now old enough to have families of their own.

The trio heard the amputated arm's flesh tear, which faintly resembled the sound of damp cardboard ripping. Blood drizzled into the pristinely mowed lawn that Erin stood on while she detached the veal from young bone as if she were eating a delicious Buffalo style chicken wing. Erin had loved those in life, but now, in death, all Erin and the other zombies loved were the former versions of themselves.

Carl began sobbing hysterically before climbing back into the SUV. A couple random crows that had been picking at the human pig roast in Kat's driveway took flight when he pulled the vehicle's door shut. Lori Grimes shouted something about Jesus.

For a long moment, as Erin continued chewing up her lunch, Shane could do nothing but silently watch as his scrambled sensory input tried to work itself out so that his brain could formulate an appropriate response to what he was witnessing. He had no idea how long he stood there, but once the soft breeze offered his nose the olfactory experience of decomposition, he shot back into reality.

Erin was again sauntering over towards them when Shane came back to Earth, her drooling mouth smeared with blood, her chin dripping with the same fluids, and her nostrils flickering in search of her father's living scent. She caught it once the breeze died down, fixed her intentions on it, and let the half-eaten limb plop harmlessly into the grass. As she tried to rush toward her intended prey, her decaying body tripped over a stick in the yard, overbalanced, and fell awkwardly onto one of those colourful miniature windmills that served as a lawn decoration for Kat's property. Two of its little metal points effectively pierced through her pyjamas and into her lifeless abdomen.

"Erin . . ." Shane whinged. "No . . ."

Confused, the little zombie groaned agonizingly in such a way that it was almost convincing. She stared stupidly into the bright sky and seemed to focus directly on the Sun itself. Any living creature would have instantly recoiled from the intensity the star's blinding light, as well as the pain of being stabbed by a tiny metal windmill.

Her brief episode of spacing out was cut short when Shane stepped into her line of vision. Now Erin looked up at him and for a moment Shane saw his daughter—his real daughter—inside the vacuous revenant, her face unhappy and laden with diseased suffering.

Moving cautiously with his hand on his gun, Shane knelt beside his fallen child and stared into her yellowed eyes, expecting some trick. But there was no trick, nor a sudden leap with clawed hands or bared teeth. Erin simply watched him blankly, flaring her nostrils at him as she took in his scent.

"Shane, don't," Lori called quietly from behind him just as a faded old Jeep Grand Cherokee pulled up in front of her SUV and parked.

Perhaps it was a remnant of her soul. Perhaps it was a still-functioning brain cell. But the delayed look that Shane received was almost one of familiarity. Erin cocked her head as she stared at him, narrowing her tear-pasted eyes as if trying to remember where she had encountered this memorable black haired cop with his Dolce and Gabbana cologne.

Erin strained her neck towards him and pushed herself up on her elbows to get a better whiff. Shane pulled away, fearful of what she would do if she concluded that he would be tasty. He staggered to his feet and stepped back, which only motivated the currently passive walker to hoist herself up onto her trembling legs and lean towards him.

"Erin?" he asked softly.

Dead yellow eyes shifted to meet his gaze. The zombie then opened her mouth, almost as if to speak. Shane paused, waiting, hoping quickly that she would. But the only sound that emanated off of her settled voice box was a weak, crackling death rattle.

"Erin, sweetie?" Shane tried again. The corpse continued mouthing whispering vocalisations of nothing at him. "It's me; it's Daddy. Do you remember me?"

The impaired gurgle then elevated into the more appropriate death growl of a walker. Her face twisted and writhed, eyes baleful and insectile in their stupid, hungry hate.

Suddenly, following a deep bang that came from Shane's left, Erin Burke's head snapped unnaturally to the side and her carcass fell. It took him several seconds to absorb what had happened, and when he did, he realised that his daughter had been hit with a bullet.

"Don't you dumbasses know they bite?" a gruff male voice grilled.

The devastated father turned and fixed his eyes on the source of both the slug and the cold-hearted question. He was an overweight brunette man of average height with beady eyes. In his right hand dangled a hunting rifle of some sort that Shane was not familiar with. A half-smoked Marlboro was between the fingers of his left hand, which he puffed on casually as he leered at Shane with threatening, murderous eyes.

"Gotta shoot 'em bitches in the brain," Ed Peletier added.

Shane heard Lori walk up behind him to inspect Erin's body. His attention was brought back to the fallen walker when Lori suddenly jolted away and gasped, "Oh my God."

That hellish death growl had returned, but now it sounded more saturated with excruciating agony than it did predatory hunger. Ed's wild shot had indeed hit Erin in the head, but not in the right place. It looked like her right maxilla and part of her eye socket had been shattered. Shane saw that she was still breathing; the impact and the shock had no doubt knocked her unconscious for a brief period—or as close to unconsciousness as the walking dead could get, anyways.

It was the exact opposite of what Shane and Kat had wanted for their daughter. Their plan to put her down humanely had backfired. As Erin lay there, thrashing like dying road kill and groaning in distress, Shane believed that his zombified daughter was experiencing nothing less than indescribable unbearable pain.

"Oh hell, do I gotta spell it out for you idiots?" Ed huffed angrily. He then marched up to the pitiful creature and roughly pressed the barrel of his long gun right against her temple, holding her already mutilated head forcefully against the ground. When he pulled the trigger, Erin's undead movements and wails finally ceased as her skull exploded like a cold egg slamming into a kitchen floor.

Shane snapped.

His screams echoed and racketed shrilly through the town where now only death lived and walked. The sounds came up from his tired lungs like sirens from hell, grave shrieks that signalled the end of his sanity. In his mind, the hideous volcano that had been steadily oozing psychopathic magma for the last few weeks suddenly blew up, sending debris all over his mental landscape. The mountain exploded with such force that it left a figurative crater in his morals, one so deep that it practically erased them from existence.

Kat was dead. Erin was dead. His kids were more likely than not, also dead.

And now, Shane too, felt like he was just as dead as they were.

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><p>Hey guys, sorry about how short this chapter was. I wanted to end it here and start a new chapter with the scenes that take place during the TV show.<p>

I could really use some inspiration right about now . . . . Like, seriously. Everything that I have written that hasn't been posted is stuff that comes after the TV show . . . but nothing that takes place during the TV show.

SO PLEASE INSPIRE ME! :/ I want to get this next chapter or two written and I'm just feeling so "meh" about it. LOL I just want to get to the part that will be my version of Season 3!

Sooo . . . inspire me! Pretty please? :3

Or at least review! If you don't, my zombie will come and bite you.

If anyone would like to see the full-sized picture of the story's cover image, send me a private message, email, IM, or Facebook request. I'll gladly send it to ya! :D

Do you have any suggestions, ideas, comments, or critiques? Pairings you'd like to see? Characters you would like to see zombified or just flat out eaten alive? Suggest away in your review!

_**My Zombie Valentine**_ copyright © **28 March 2012** by _**Darkinyron**_

_**The Walking Dead **_copyright © _**Robert Kirkman**_


	7. Arsenic

**MY ZOMBIE VALENTINE  
><strong>**By: Darkinyron**

WHERE IS EVERYBODY?! :( It's like all my readers vanished! ;_; And why isn't anybody updating their stories?!

This chapter takes place during _The Walking Dead_ TV show. So that everyone knows where each of the scenes take place, I've put the episode in italics (along with a mini description of where in each episode) before each scene. Hope this helps. After this and the next chapter or two, we will go back to the original story. :)

Sorry about the update wait. I was terribly uninspired with this chapter and it took me awhile to get motivated to write what I did manage to spit out. -_-;

Today I had a surge of motivation for this chapter and thanks to that, it ended up being way, way, WAY too long! So I had to break it apart! :P But FINALLY, after all these damn months, this story is ready to go again!

Sooooo you guys aren't going to believe this, but last night I watched _The Walking Dead Webisodes: Cold Storage_ and in the second episode, Chase goes into the storage facility that Rick Grimes' rented and finds a picture of Rick, Shane, and two other cops who look almost exactly like Katharine Burke and Jason Crandall! I couldn't believe it! I swear the creators must have read my story (or maybe my mind lol) when they were making those videos because the similarity that those two cops have to my OC's Katharine and Jason are unbelievable. To see what I'm talking about, go watch it! (I'm sure many of you already have since it came out on Oct. 1st, 2012 and it's now Nov. 3rd, lol yes I am the slow kid on the block.) It's on AMC's website. As of right now, those two cops in the photograph are unnamed. I hope they stay that way because I want them to be Kat and Jason! :D

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><p><strong>~ CHAPTER SEVEN ~<strong>

**ARSENIC**

_1 WEEK BEFORE SEASON 1 – EPISODE 1_

LORI GRIMES WASN'T the only person who'd chosen to bring along a family photo album. Shane had too; and the value of the ostensibly useless item in the apocalyptic, survival-based world was just as important to him as it was to her. In fact, he carried two with him. One was his, which he'd somehow left at Kat's house one night after adding new photos to it. He'd kept forgetting to take it home with him shortly before the plague's outbreak. The other was Kat's personal photo album, which he'd never even seen before her death.

He'd found it in her safe, which he knew the combination to but had never opened out of respect for her. After tirelessly searching her bloodied house for any signs of their children and Uncle Rob, he'd opened her safe in search of money with which to use at Fort Benning. Little did he know that the safe's emergency stash of $5,000 he'd found in $100 bills had completely lost their value that day. He'd also found all of his girlfriend's medical records, her and their children's social security cards, her husband's death certificate and the police report on the man's death which included on-scene photographs, extra ammunition for her M-4, and her most valuable jewellery. The photo album had been buried underneath it all.

As he sat cross-legged on the floor of his tent, Shane removed the photo album from one of his bags and set it down in front of him. He hadn't had time to look through it prior to settling in the wooded camp, and his guilt associated with his spontaneous hook-up with Lori on their first night there had kept him from touching it. He lacked a valid explanation as to why he'd hooked up with her. She was his best friend's wife after all, and although he'd always viewed the thin woman as a friend, he'd never been particularly interested in her beyond speaking to her when Rick was around. And in the month preceding Rick's fatal gunshot wound, he'd grown chary of her whenever Rick mentioned her. Through his friend's frustration and struggles of trying to keep the marriage together, Shane learned that Lori Grimes was a cold, emotionally stunted, manipulative, and possibly selfish woman.

Rick had always deserved better than Lori, Shane thought. But now Shane was left wondering why the hell he'd let himself fall prey to her advances. Even if the widow was no longer in love with Rick the way she should have been, she was still all of the qualities that made Shane leery of her. Despite his confusion and preliminary self-loathing over the physical act, he knew that he'd just wanted comfort during his period of overwhelming bereavement. He just hated admitting to himself that he'd allowed his mental weakness to bleed like an open wound for Lori to notice and take advantage of.

Something caught Shane's eye before he could open Katharine's book of memories. Jutting out from just under the cover was the corner of a purple envelope. He pulled it out and sucked in a hearty, nervous wheeze when he read his first name neatly printed on the front of the envelope where an address would normally be written. He gently squeezed the card-sized sachet and concluded that it most likely contained a folded message on regular paper and possibly a smaller card. Without opening it, he could only assume that Kat had handwritten him a letter that she had never gotten the chance to deliver.

Guilt's teeth latched onto Shane's soul yet again and ripped another chunk of mental flesh away from his already dilapidated psyche. When the imaginary entity had effectively chewed its morsel into a slimy, irreparable bolus it spat it back out onto his conscience like a squid spewing defensive ink. The black slime that littered his mental landscape absorbed into his barren soil, forever polluting it even further.

Mental images of Lori's naked body beneath him flashed through his mind. He almost felt the need to thrash like a fish out of water to chase them away. And every time his self-torturing brain decided to involuntarily summon a memory of some random position he'd taken her in, an image of Katharine Burke accompanied it. He'd see Lori's face transform into Kat's or vice versa. Sometimes those images of Kat were zombified. Yet no matter what form of Kat the flashback chose, it always presented her with the most betrayed expression it could muster.

Despite how badly he wanted to tear that envelope open and examine its contents, Shane's guilt just wouldn't allow him to. Something in his subliminal mind told him that whatever it was, the time wasn't right. He tried to bring himself to open it, but he feared what was inside. He could not explain why, but he feared it.

Sighing, Shane set the envelope aside and opened Kat's picture album for the first time. A soft smile spread over his face when he saw an old photograph of a young Katharine Chambers sitting on her father's lap. Beside them was her mother and her little brother, Marshall. The little girl, who had been four years old according to the handwriting on the back of the photo, beamed with happiness and innocent warmth. It was Christmastime in the picture, December 24th to be exact, and the family unit was obviously dressed for the special day's mass at their local church, dinner and present exchange with Dorian's family, and other festivities before Santa's visit later that night.

The only baby pictures Shane had ever seen of the woman he loved had been on Dorian Chambers' mantel the night Kat had taken him to meet her parents. The meeting hadn't even lasted sixty seconds before the outrageously Catholic couple let him know how they felt about another man replacing Steven Burke. They hadn't said it candidly, but their eyes and indirect statements had gotten their opinions across without fail.

Now, after he'd failed in his promise to protect their daughter and let no harm come to her, he had all the baby pictures he'd always wanted. Shane chewed his lip as the circumstances surrounding the death of Kat, Erin, and their three children reminded him of how he could have prevented them all in the first place. The innocence of Kat's life stared back at him like little time machines as he viewed her cute little kindergarten graduation ceremony, her adorable part as the flower girl in a cousin's wedding, her role as silly King Pish Posh in her third grade's performance of _The Punctuation Proclamation_, her first horseback riding lesson, and her school's team victories in children's hockey from Mini Mite all the way up to the Pee Wee level.

Shane's jaw dropped further as he turned each page. Kat had never told him that she was a hockey player. He'd never heard about King Pish Posh's hatred of punctuation leading up to his banishment of its use from his kingdom, or how Kat would dramatically exclaim _"Botheration!" _anytime she'd come across a period or comma during play practice. She never told him that she'd grown up in Macon, Georgia for the first twelve years of her life before moving to the house Dorian lived in now, where Shane had first met him, after he'd finished medical school. The existence of Katharine's childhood best friends—Bekki, Rachel, Dennie, and Lee—had all been previously unknown to Shane. Though the latter, Lee, Shane had spoken to once on the phone when the man had called wanting Kat's address so he could mail her an invitation to his wedding. At least, he assumed this Lee Everett to be the same person. And if it was, he wasn't aware that Kat had known him since at least fifth grade, according to the picture.

"I . . . I don't even know you . . ." Shane whispered to the photos as disbelief set in. "Why, Kat? Why didn't you ever tell me about your childhood? Why did you push me away? Why didn't you ever let me in? Why was I never good enough?"

Another shocking set of hockey photos belonged to the high school years. Kat had earned three trophies and had gone from playing the position of left wing to goaltender in eleventh grade. She'd also earned herself an article in one of Georgia's state newspapers in which she tried to encourage other students to take interest in the sport, which was rather rare in high schools of the southern United States. One of the hockey pictures disturbed Shane. Apparently Kat had received a bloody nose during a fist fight with an opposing team's player. He couldn't tell if the punch had actually broken her nose due to swelling and bruising, but as she sat in the penalty box doing time for a roughing conviction, she grinned victoriously—and almost evilly—at the cameraman. Blood covered her mouth, chin, neck, and teeth. A half-healed black left eye obscured her vision and a missing tooth broke the pattern of her perfect, crimson smile.

The dark picture reminded Shane of something important. Instead of leaning over a sink in the locker room with a sterile towel and tears streaming from her eyes, the teenaged Kat Burke was sitting in the penalty box with a proud smile spread across her busted face. It wasn't because her injury didn't hurt or that the coach didn't care enough, it was because she could take it. The look in Kat's eyes told him that she wore her own blood with pride. She let her nose bleed all over her jersey because she wanted the opposing team to remember that not only had she just beaten the ass of one of their players, she'd taken his or her punches like a man. It was her way of warning the other team against picking a fight with her again and simultaneously daring them to at the same time. Her fading black eye and missing tooth emphasised her message by telling the rivals that this wasn't the first time she'd put someone in their place.

Katharine had once told him, _"Scars are natural bumper stickers signifying personal victory and survival. They let the world know that you're strong. They remind you every day what you're capable of enduring. They're ugly because what they represent is ugly—the cycle of infliction, pain, suffering, disability, and healing. Whether they're physical or emotional, they're there for the world to see either in plain view or through interaction with your being."_ Then, referring to both the scars in her lungs resulting from a near-fatal respiratory infection and a surgical scar that had formed after the removal of her appendix, she'd said, _"If neither tuberculosis nor a mini explosion in my gut could kill me, I don't think any disease can. If I can disarm and fight off a knife-wielding adult man who is high on meth, I don't think any sick bastard can kill me either. I'm a survivor, Shane."_

The conversation had started when he'd asked her if her caesarean section scar would make her feel insecure during sex once it healed. It then led to them swapping stories about each other's scars and injuries. The only one he hadn't learned about was the false tooth she must have gotten after the hockey match. He found himself wondering just how many sports-related injuries she hadn't bothered telling him about.

Why hadn't she told him? Did she really love him so little during all those years that she didn't care to? Had she just not seen the importance of sharing her life's story with the man who'd fathered three of her four children? Was she afraid to tell him all of those secrets in fear that she would lose him, too, if she had? Had the thought even crossed her mind or was her deception intentional? He couldn't remember if he'd told her about his life because she'd asked him or if he'd done it on his own. He figured it was probably the latter. Either way, Katharine Amanda Burke knew everything that there was to know about him.

_Maybe her confession that she loved me had been a lie after all . . . _And that was when Shane's doubts suddenly mixed with and caused yet another spike in his already elevated perplexity.

The happy innocence of Kat's life seemed to disappear from her facial features once Steven Burke made his first appearance in her picture album. It was a professionally photographed scene from their wedding, and Shane could just make out a slight bulge under his sole mate's white dress that indicated her pregnancy. Shane closed his eyes and let memories of Erin Burke frolic through his damaged mind. He missed that little girl. Knowing that he'd never again practice pitching with her for softball or help her with homework crushed him. And it was all because of his irresponsibility—which he refused to equally blame Kat for.

Shane then experienced a feeling he was previously unfamiliar with. Peering again at the image, a sudden hatred welled up within him at the historical sight of Kat carrying another man's child. Even though it had happened long before he'd even known of her existence, he still felt a displaced jealousy for the man she had been forced to marry because of it. He knew he had no right to hate Steven Burke for it because at the time, Kat had rightfully been his, not Shane's. And he never had; he'd always viewed Erin as his own and had never held her paternity against her. Had Steven not died, the story may have been different, but it didn't matter.

Kat was always grateful for Shane's acceptance of her daughter. Shane hadn't expected it. After all, she'd rarely expressed her gratitude to him about anything else. But he'd proved it to her after a ripped condom resulted in the birth of his own twins by never esteeming them.

_"__Not many men out there are willing to raise another man's children without discriminating against them. Most men favour their own kids over the ones they didn't create. You don't do that."_ Kat had said that to him at Harrison Memorial Hospital after Erin had been scratched by the zombies.

On another occasion—not long before she'd given birth to their twins—Kat had questioned his feelings on the matter. He'd told her that Erin was his child now and that she would always be on the same level as his biological children. When he'd asked Kat about her opinion she'd said, _"All I have to say is that if I was in your position and you had kids, I wouldn't have any interest in you whatsoever. I could never date or have an intimate relationship with a man who had children with another woman, regardless of whether or not I had my own."_

It was a profound statement that Shane always kept in the back of his mind, but he never thought he'd ever have to fear it because his eyes never fell on any other women. Though now, with Kat dead and Lori getting in his pants, the quote began chewing on his soul with a twisted smirk, gnawing incessantly without relent.

Kat looked miserable at her wedding. Her eyes were dull, staring at the cameraman without even seeing him. She hadn't even attempted to fake a smile. Shane learned that this was in fact the day that Kat internally died, only to be resurrected as an emotionless zombie. He'd always assumed that it was born as a result of Steven's death, but the evidence before him proved that it was actually the result of her loveless, unwanted marriage to him.

Since that fateful day she'd been both figuratively and literally rotting inside with an insatiable hunger that she wasn't even aware of. No matter how much love Shane gave her, it was never enough to fill her zombie's belly or resuscitate her human soul.

Images of Steven Burke were few and far between after that. He occasionally popped up alongside Erin throughout various stages of her early life, but he never again shared a picture with his wife.

Pining overran Shane for a brief minute when he made his first appearance in Kat's photo album. It was the day he'd been hired at King County Sheriff's Department. That same day, Rick Grimes, Jason Crandall, and Katharine Burke had also been hired. Sheriff Everhart had taken a group photo of the four new police officers standing beside one another in uniform. It was also the day that Shane had met the woman who would become the love of his life.

The immediate attraction he'd felt for the other officer led to him swarming poor Rick with questions about her. Rick had gotten to know her quite well; they'd attended the same police academy after all. Shane remembered Rick's amusement at his horrified reaction to finding out that his crush was married. His best friend had picked on him about it to no end.

Shane paused and glanced over at Steven Burke's death certificate and the police report associated with it. He decided not to open it up because the photographs that had been taken for investigative purposes were gruesome and the recollection of that fateful day was burned into Shane's memory for all eternity. But the most significant aspect of that day, for him anyways, was the door of opportunity that had opened for him. It was the door that let him finally enter Kat's life.

He remembered that day like it was yesterday. Again, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to relive it.

_"2347 and 770; 302 and 238; 1835," the voice of Fran, one of the sheriff's department's dispatchers, called over the radio. It was 1:03 AM and the weekend had barely begun._

_ "770," Rick Grimes replied. From the driver's seat of their shared Crown Victoria, he glanced over at Shane with a perplexing look. Usually, one pair of deputies was enough to handle a call since they'd have each other's backs. Two pairs and/or the sergeant were only sent for the most serious ones—such as homicides, major vehicle accidents, fires, explosions, and other catastrophes. _

_ "238," Katharine Burke's voice echoed into the radio. The woman sounded mildly annoyed over the impending dispatch since her and Jason had just wrapped up a DWI arrest less than five minutes ago and had not yet had their meal break._

_ "1835," Sergeant Ring acknowledged. His voice sounded stern and prepared._

_ "Signal 31A between the addresses of 14011 and 14015 State Route 65. Motorcycle versus deer. Be advised this stretch of road is between two hills and oncoming traffic will not be able to see the accident from a distance."_

_ "770 and 2347 en route," Rick Grimes declared before firing up their lights and siren. He then glanced quickly at Shane before accelerating down the road. "It's midnight and those hills are immediately after one another. If anyone drives down one faster than the speed limit they won't have time to stop."_

_ "238 and 302 en route," Katharine called. The sound of her blaring siren screamed through the radio._

_ "1835 en route."_

_ "They won't even see the wreck before they hit it," Shane guessed. "We'll have to park our cars at the tops of the hills to warn oncoming traffic."_

_ "Good idea. I bet that's why she's sending all of us."_

_ "Yep. Why the hell would somebody be on a motorcycle at this hour?"_

_ "Because he's an idiot."_

_ "Units en route to the 31A," Fran spoke quickly. "The witness reports that the motorcyclist is lying in the northbound lane and is attempting to pull himself across the road to the far side. He is unable to move his legs. She is trying to help him get to safety."_

_ The injury accident was several miles from each of the officers' locations. Working in a vast county had its disadvantages and the convenience of being able to arrive on scene within a few minutes wasn't nearly as easy as it was for a municipal policeman. They'd been driving for over five minutes when Rick finally turned onto State Route 65. He sighed knowing that the accident was still eight miles away._

_ A couple minutes after their turn, the radio crackled with Fran's voice yet again._

_ "Units en route to the 31A—just to advise, this will now be a Signal 30."_

_ A Signal 31A was the police radio code for an injury accident. A Signal 30 was a fatal accident._

_ Silence thickened the atmosphere and chills ran up the deputies' spines. They were too late._

_ "What happened . . .?" Sergeant Ring's voice rattled slightly as he dared to ask the question that nobody else wanted to._

_ Fran's voice let everyone know that she was also slightly affected. "A semi came over the hill . . ."_

_ Flashing red and blue caught Rick's attention as Kat and Jason turned off of a road they'd just passed and began following them. Ahead, they could see Sergeant Ring pulling up in his marked SUV from the other direction. The semi was parked crookedly atop his side of the two hills. He parked his car straight across the road with the gumballs lit to prevent traffic from passing. Rick and Kat did the same with their cars from the top of the opposing hill in the midst of radioing their arrivals into dispatch._

_ The four young deputies didn't acknowledge each other as they exited their police cars. Hysterical cries from a female greeted them. As they walked down the hill they could see the outline of a mangled, bloody body illuminated by their emergency lights. In the distance, the wail of an ambulance could be heard._

_ The extent of the damage revealed itself under the bright glow of their flashlights. Thick black tire marks began several yards before mixing with both pooled and splattered blood. Several metres later laid a severely crushed and obviously deceased corpse._

_ "He's dead! He's deaaaaaad!" the witness sobbed. She was kneeling beside the broken road kill that was contorted inconceivably with her hands on his bloodied back. "Oh my God! Help him! DO SOMETHING! He's DEAD!"_

_ "Are you injured?" their sergeant asked her._

_ "No!"_

_ "Ma'am, I need you to step away," Sergeant Ring ordered. _

_ "HE'S DEAD!" she shouted again._

_ "Grimes, take her," he ordered Rick. Rick immediately stepped forward and began trying to coax the young woman away from the body. _

_ "Crandall, Burke, you two go 'n see what's going on with the driver." Sergeant Ring then nodded in Shane's direction while the other two deputies took off up the hill towards the semi. "Help me check him."_

_ There was no use in trying CPR. The weight of the tractor trailer had crushed the motorcyclist's neck beyond recognition; its tires had scraped skin, meat, and shattered bone away from the carcass under their immense pressure, effectively decapitating him as he'd rolled helplessly beneath each tire. Rut impressions marked his shoulders, chest, and back from where the inner tires had attempted to drag his dead body, which glistened everywhere with the man's blood. His leather jacket even looked like it had melded with his skin in areas where he'd been run over. What was even recognisable as muscle now had the consistency of hamburger meat._

_ Up until then, Shane had never seen a body so garbled, at least not in person. His hand covered his mouth and he froze, watching what blood was left in the man's circulatory system trickle into the massive puddle he had died in. He swallowed hard and eventually closed his eyes, shocked._

_ "Get yourself together." The stern words of Sergeant Ring summoned Shane's attention as he pulled a pair of latex gloves over his hands._

_ "Yes, Sir."_

_ "1835 to headquarters," he half-heartedly groused, forcing his voice to remain steady. He then knelt beside the body and checked the dead man's pockets._

_ "1835," Fran despondently acknowledged._

_ "Confirming the Signal 30," he sighed. The sergeant then frowned and huffed. "His identification isn't on his person. Standby while we search the area for a wallet. It's going to be a white male. That's all we know right now."_

_ "Clear; I'll proceed on Signal 59." Signal 59 meant that a coroner would be called to the scene._

_ The corpse's head was facing in the direction opposite the rest of his body. His eyelids were swollen and their contents bulged sickeningly out of them, paralysing his deceased face with a look of unqualified fright. What should have been vision was now skewed by a thick coat of blood, precluding the officers from seeing his true eye colour. His nose was broken; his skin was scratched and bloated with black and blue. His tongue protruded from his mouth as if it was locked in a permanent gag._

_ "He seen it coming," Shane whispered weakly to no one in particular. _

_ "Horrible," Sergeant Ring agreed, shaking his head with pity. "They need laws against riding motorcycles at night. Shit like this wouldn't happen if they did."_

_ Shane nodded as the ambulance they had heard earlier pulled up next to their police cars._

_ "Come on; let's try to find his wallet. He probably has it on the motorcycle. Either that or it flew out of his jeans when he hit the deer. Let's also run the plates."_

_ The EMT squad raced over and began murmuring to one another, knowing that resuscitation was out of the question. One of the women unfolded a thick, black sheet and covered the man's body. She then turned to the woman Rick was consoling to check on her medical condition while her partners recorded an official time of death._

_ The motorcycle wasn't quite as mangled as its rider but it was just as blood soaked. Beside it was the deer, an adult buck, with a broken neck and deep gashes all over his side and belly._

_ "2347 to headquarters, I have an RP on the motorcycle," Shane radioed in regarding its license plate._

_ "Go ahead, 2347."_

_ "Georgia RP. Charles-Young-2-1-5-Adam. C-Y-2-1-5-A."_

_ "Clear."_

_ Just then, Kat and Jason reappeared on either side of the visibly and understandably distraught truck driver, helping him walk. The chubby man's face was as white as a sheet and his violent trembling nearly brought him to his knees._

_ ". . . and . . . and t-t-t-then my lights just shined on him," the trucker was blubbering hysterically. "I-I didn't mean to! . . . I didn't mean to hit him! I didn't see him 'til I was . . . r-r-r-right there . . . and . . . and then I . . . I s-s-s-seen him! He . . . h-h-his eyes were all I saw. His eyes . . . he w-was look'n at me . . . his eyes . . . glow'n yellow like a deer in my headlights . . ."_

_ "It was an accident," Kat said, her low voice professional yet compassionate._

_ "I slammed on my brakes . . . I tried to stop, I tried SO HARD to stop! But it was t-t-too . . . too late! Oh my God . . ."_

_ Jason and Kat sat the man down on the rear bumper of the ambulance. An EMT came over to check him out and asked the other two officers for a few minutes with him for evaluation. They agreed and gave the team their space, deciding to head over to the wreckage in the meantime._

_ "2347, I have your RP when you're ready," Fran offered._

_ "Go ahead," Shane allowed. He had his little notepad out and a pen ready to write down the relevant information._

_ Kat marched past the blanketed body without looking at it. Shane noticed her suddenly stop dead in her tracks from the corner of his eye only a few feet away from him. He looked up to see her gaping at the broken motorcycle with an expression of stressed curiosity mixed with fear just as Fran radioed back to Shane._

_ "Charles-Young-2-1-5-Adam comes back on a 2007 Harley Davidson Softail registered to . . ." The woman paused on the other end of the transmission as she read the printout of the plate before continuing in a tone of obvious hesitation and shock. "Registered to . . . Steven Andre Burke."_

_ Colour drained from Katharine Burke's face as if her throat had just been slit. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes began darting about frantically, laden with absolute incredulity and confusion. Rick, who was in the process of walking over as well, paused in his steps and turned towards his shocked friend, his own face plastered with the same feelings. Jason Crandall forgot all about the broken bike and gasped out loud. Sergeant Ring looked like he was about to shit his pants._

_ Despite the blinding feelings he had for the married woman he'd had his eyes on, Shane felt bad for her. Realising he had just done a visual inspection of her husband's corpse without even recognising him made him feel even worse. He glanced briefly at his sergeant and felt the same disgusted pity emitting from him. Without thinking much more, Shane stepped forward just as Kat looked ready to lose it._

_ "I'm so sorry," he whispered. In an instant his strong arms were wrapped around her and for the first time he got to experience her warmth and the smell of her subtle, sugary perfume up close. He pulled her against him and, albeit subconsciously, took in what he could of the feeling of her toned body and feminine curves beneath her restricting vest. He felt the other officer, who was only an inch or two shorter than him, rest her forehead on his shoulder as she began to heave in arduous, cautious breaths and process what was happening. It took her a moment but eventually she reciprocated the embrace and allowed her unfamiliar co-worker to hold her rightfully._

_ Shane hadn't known how long he stood there with her, but during that seemingly innocent motion he become conscious of the fact that his opportunity had come. He felt sick thinking of it in that sense—the man who stood in his way of pursuing the beautiful cop was now dead after all—but it was the truth. And in that moment, Shane felt his spiritual connection with Kat form. He'd been drawn to her from the day he'd met her and although he couldn't explain it, he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his days with her. She needed him, and he would be there for her. He needed her, and he would allow her to fill the void in his life._

_ Rick seemed to read Shane's mind and put his hand on Kat's shoulder. She felt her buddy's gentle grip and looked up at him with blank, zombified eyes. _

_ "C'mere," Rick coaxed. He glared up at Shane, warning him to mind his place and back off. It was the wrong time, the wrong place, and the wrong move to make. Rick didn't have to speak it for Shane to get the message._

_ Katharine eased out of Shane's arms and he let her. He then watched as she practically latched onto Rick and held him tightly like a frightened child. An uncomfortable pang shot through Shane's chest, but he brushed it off. Of course she would seek comfort in someone she was close to rather than the guy she barely knew. Jealousy was stupid over something like that._

_ Sergeant Ring looked from Shane to Jason and nodded his nose toward the ambulance. One of the EMT's was whispering into the truck driver's ear. His words elicited a horrified gasp from the trucker's hyperventilating throat before he crumpled into shrieking, almost bloodcurdling wails. He'd obviously just been informed that he'd made road kill out of the officer's husband. The sound seemed to bring Kat back to some level of reality and rationality and she slowly pulled away from Rick's hug._

_ Kat turned around, her eyes still glazed and vacant. They darted about aimlessly until they focused on the black, now bloodied blanket. She guardedly started to approach it, tiptoeing as if she was hunting prey and afraid of making any noise._

_ "What . . . what are you doing?" Rick hurriedly enquired. He stepped forward and snatched at Kat's wrist, but she pulled away from him before he could stop her. _

_ Kat virtually fell to her knees beside the road kill. Before she had time to hesitate she ripped the blanket off of her husband's cadaver and forced herself to identify his body._

_ Now that two and two had been put together, Sergeant Ring and his other officers automatically recognised Steven Burke. His face and body were too busted and skewed for them to make a proper identification without her input. And Kat's reaction to her departed husband confirmed any final doubts they had._

_ Kat fell over and caught herself on the palms of her hands. Her heaving lungs began to wheeze under the colossal stress of the situation, weakened by shock and fear. Rick was immediately by her side whispering his condolences._

_ "238 to headquarters," Katharine rasped into her radio after managing to get a half-assed grip on herself and a pitiful breath of air. She let Rick help her into a sitting position, facing away from the corpse. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely grip the transmitter._

_ "Jason," Rick snapped suddenly. "Get her inhaler. She can't breathe."_

_ "Go ahead, 238 . . ." Fran sadly replied as Jason bolted up the hill towards their police car._

_ "Con . . ." Kat gasped for air again before forcing her vocal cords to obey. "Confirming the Signal 30 is . . . Steven Burke."_

_ Jason returned seconds later and knelt in front of his friend. He held her inhaler up to her mouth and injected the lifesaving medicine into her throat when she was ready. She asked for two more puffs before nodding to him that her asthma attack was receding. _

_ "Shane."_

_ "Yeah?"_

_ Rick beckoned him over with a jerk of his head. "Help me walk her to the car."_

_ In a heartbeat, Shane was at her side, helping her stand. He and Rick let the devastated woman lean on them as they walked on either side of her up the knoll._

_ "Stupid," Kat randomly grumbled as they reached the top of the hill._

_ "What?" Rick asked, puzzled._

_ "That he'd ride his motorcycle at this hour," Kat snarled. "Stupid!"_

_ The statement seemed out of place. Instead of tears, screams, misunderstanding, denial, or sadness, Kat was choosing to reprimand her spouse like a child._

_ "Why the fuck would he do this to me?"_

_ "Kat, he . . ."_

_ "He left me a widow! I'm twenty-one years old, Rick, and I'm a fucking widow!"_

_ "Kat . . ."_

_ "I don't want to be alone!" _

_ Shane saw a brief glimpse of emotion in that statement. Her face scrunched into an almost tearful gesture, but it was forced away just as quickly as it appeared._

_ "You're not alone," Shane butted in._

_ Katharine looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. He could see her eyes becoming bloodshot and watery, but she refused to give into the emotion and let it flow as it needed._

_ "You have us," Rick explained, shooting Shane another ocular warning. "Me, Shane, Jay, the Sarge . . . we're all here for you."_

_ "I know, Rick, but that's not what I meant."_

_ "What did you mean?"_

_ "I mean I'm alone; a widow! I don't deserve this! I don't deserve to be a widow when I've only been alive for two decades and married for less than four years!"_

_ A few stray tears managed to leak out of Kat's mental dam. She swallowed hard to prevent anymore from finding their way down her cheeks._

_ "I don't want to be alone for the rest of my life. I'd rather live it in my miserable marriage than live miserably on my own."_

_ Rick and Shane were at a loss for words. They couldn't decide which was more shocking—the death of Steven Burke, or Kat's cold, vile reaction to it._

_ "Grimes!"_

_ Rick looked down the hill at Sergeant Ring. _

_ "One of you, take her back to the station!" he hollered up at them. "Jason and I can handle this but we need one of you to help with the photographs and the measurements for accident reconstruction if it's necessary. Kat, you're relieved from duty for the night. Go home and get some rest; I will call you for follow up in the morning."_

_ "Thanks, Sarge," Kat snivelled._

_ "I'll take her home," Shane immediately offered._

_ "No," Rick protested sharply._

_ "I can drive myself," Kat grumbled beneath another jailbreak of tears._

_ "I'd rather you not," Rick argued. "You just had an asthma attack. The last thing I need is to find you dead against a tree because you had another one at the wheel."_

_ Kat's eyes welled up once again and she nodded before bowing her head to hide what was building up to near-explosive levels._

_ "Will you stay with me tonight?" Kat asked meekly._

_ "Why? Don't you want some time to yourself?" Rick wondered._

_ "I don't know how to tell my daughter that her father's dead! She's not even four years old yet . . . Please, I don't know what to say. I'd feel better if you were there to help me."_

_ Rick understood and as was his nature, he wanted to be there for his friend and do whatever he could to help her._

_ "Okay," he concurred with a nod. "Let me call Lori real quick 'n let her know."_

_ "Thank you."_

_ Rick stepped aside and pulled out his cell phone. He walked a ways up the road, out of earshot, so he could talk to his wife and explain what was going on._

_ "Hey," Shane said softly, summoning Kat's attention. "I know this prolly don't mean much coming from me, but . . . I just want ya to know that I'm sorry for your loss and I'm here for ya if ya need anything."_

_ Kat let a rapid smirk cross her face before bowing her head again and staring at her boots. "Thank you . . . It actually does mean a lot."_

_ "I know we don't know each other very well . . . like, at all . . . but I do care 'n I gotta say you deserve better than him."_

_ "What?"_

_ "You should be crying yourself half to death right now," Shane reasoned. He still couldn't really believe her reaction and finally decided that it must have been due to shock._

_ "I don't like to cry. What's the point? What good does it do?"_

_ "Your husband just passed away."_

_ "Deputy, just between you and I . . . umm, if Rick hasn't hinted at this yet or just flat out told you . . . umm . . . I married Steven out of necessity, not desire."_

_ "Rick alluded to that. He's told me a lot about you, actually."_

_ "Hmm," she huffed. "If you wanna know the details then ask him. I can't talk about this right now."_

_ "Are you gunna to be all right?"_

_ "No . . . I'm a widow now. I'm alone and a . . ." She cringed, suddenly sickened by what she was about to say. "I'm alone and a single mother now," Kat said as a whiny gag._

_ "But that doesn't make you less of a mother."_

_ "My daughter deserves a father. You don't understand."_

_ "Hey c'mon now, I was raised by a single mom. Ain't that bad."_

_ "And that's supposed to make me feel better?"_

_ "Well I hoped it would."_

_ "It doesn't. I don't want my daughter growing up in a broken family without a father."_

_ Shane paused and thought for a moment, deciding to approach his next statement carefully. "Well if I may be bold . . . It don't sound like it would have made much of a difference."_

_ "What do you mean?"_

_ "You don't love him."_

_ "So?"_

_ "So how can you raise a daughter normally if the environment she's live'n in isn't normal to begin with? Kids sense that shit. They know when anger fills the vat where love should be stored between two parents."_

_ Kat raised an eyebrow at him as she wiped away more stray tears which seemed to be leaking a bit quicker now. She sniffled deeply to keep her clogged nose at bay before figuring out what to say in response to that respectfully blunt statement._

_ "Are you a parent?" she asked._

_ "Nope."_

_ "You'll make a good father someday," she complimented, offering another sporadic, yet genuine smile. "I can tell just by the way you talk and how caring you are."_

_ "Yeaaaah maybe someday. At least I hope so." Shane glanced over at Rick but failed to hide the gigantic smile resulting from Kat's positive reception. He felt like he was getting somewhere._

_ "You will," she believed. She then reached into her police interceptor's glove box and pulled out a wad of tissues so she could blow her nose and more appropriately wipe the broken dams that were her tear ducts. _

_ "Gotta find the right lady for that first though." _

_When Kat turned back to him, she couldn't help but giggle lightly to herself at the almost ridiculously exaggerated grin that was plastered on the other deputy's face. His eyebrows were raised innocently yet their message was blatantly obvious and anything but. Shane was making no attempt to mask his flirtation._

_ Unable to think of something to say, Kat simply smiled shyly and bit her lower lip. Shane ate it up inside; she liked him. He could tell. On top of that, he'd managed to put not one, but four smiles on Kat's face so far. It was quite the accomplishment for a man to succeed at something so nerve-racking especially when a death had just occurred._

_ "Come ON, Lori!" Rick suddenly shouted from his little secluded area on the highway. His Android was still held against his ear while his other hand gestured about angrily in the midst of his sudden argument. "That's not fair! . . . No. . . . You can't say shit like that, it ain't right 'n you know it. . . . I swear to God, Lori, just come see for yourself. . . . Yes, I know Carl's asleep. . . . . No, I didn't mean literally come see it. . . . .Why are you giving me such a hard time about this?!"_

_ The positive expressions had fled Katharine's face when Shane glanced at her again. "Guess I have to figure out how to do this on my own," she sighed heavily._

_ "Hmm?"_

_ "I have to tell my daughter that her father's dead. I don't know how. I don't want to. I know I'll break down. That's why I wanted Rick to come with me and help me. He's good at stuff like that. But by the sound of it, Thunder Cunt isn't going to let him." Kat pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes in a desperate attempt to prevent a breakdown. It was inevitable in the near future._

_ "Hey now," Shane cajoled. "I'll go with ya. I'll help ya."_

_ Kat exhaled forcefully before daring to remove her hands from her face. "You don't have to."_

_ "I want to. I'm good with kids. Besides, I ain't got nothing else go'n on tonight." He simpered and shrugged artlessly._

_ "Thank you, that really means a lot to me. I appreciate it."_

_ "No prob."_

_ "I can't do this. I can't live the life of a widow."_

_ "You're strong. You'll get through this."_

_ "I'm weak. This was like my worst nightmare."_

_ "You're not weak. In just this last hour you've shown me how strong you are. And I barely even know you."_

_ "How so?"_

_ "Well ya know . . . this would have broken most people. This situation 'n all . . . seeing that dead body 'n . . ."_

_ "My father's a forensic pathologist," she cut in. "I've seen thousands of corpses in all states of decay and mutilation, including homicide victims since I was a kid."_

_ "Really?"_

_ "The physical manifestations of death do not bother me."_

_ "Yeah, but . . ."_

_ "Long ago I accepted the fact that death is a part of life. It's part of nature and we all die. It's just a matter of when and how. Being born is a death sentence."_

_ "But this is your husband."_

_ Kat peered down the hill at the mangled pile of road kill one last time. Then, in an almost convincingly casual way, she shrugged and said, "Just as well."_

Muffled voices abruptly brought Shane out of his meditative memory before he could adequately complete the portion that he wanted to mentally relive the most. He identified the voices of Merle Dixon and Ed Peletier through the cloth walls of his tent.

"How 'bout you get off yerr lazy ass 'n do somethin' around here?"

Merle was taxing the chubby man that Shane hated more than anyone at the moment. Even though he didn't think much of Merle either, whatever the brewing argument was about, he was automatically on Merle's side when Ed was the opponent.

"I don't owe you people nuthin'," Ed scowled, his voice threatening and irritated as it always was. "Fuck off, Dixon."

Merle clacked his tongue loudly, chuckling. "You're worthless," he taunted. "More worthless than a welfare suck'n nigger, you white trash!"

"I said _fuck off_!" Ed snarled in a defensive roar.

"Go fuck _yourself_, Ed," another voice cut in. Shane recognised the calmer accent of Merle's little brother, Daryl. "You ain't gonna do shit around here? Then you don't eat. Simple as that. So yeah, go fuck yourself. And if you're too damn lazy to even do that . . ." He paused; Shane registered a clicking sound that matched up with that of a pistol's chamber being locked and loaded. "I'll do it for ya. I'll shove this here gun right up yerr fat ass 'n pull the trigger. See how you like _that_ climax."

Shane's policeman side prepped him to bolt into the situation, but his vengeful side took over when he glanced back down at Kat's picture album. Staring back up at him was an image of himself with Erin sitting on his lap when she was around five years old. No matter what, he would always miss her. And regardless of what Ed did, he would always hate him for the way he had banefully and offhandedly put her zombie back to death.

His eyes then drifted back to the little lilac coloured envelope that was meant for his eyes only. He thought about opening it, but the ensuing argument outside would have made it impossible to enjoy the moment, assuming its contents were good. He tucked it back inside of the photo album and decided he would take another trip down memory lane when his mind was more settled.

"Somewhere out there, there's a tree tirelessly producing oxygen so your useless ass can breathe," Daryl lashed at Ed. "I think you owe it an apology."

Forcing his police personality to take it easy, Shane leaned back against the little collapsible table he had mounted in his tent and snickered quietly to himself, "Get him, Dixon."

* * *

><p><em>SEASON 1 – EPISODE 1<em>

_(Rick is on his way to Atlanta. He's driving the police car and decides to try calling out to other officers using the car's radio. Shane and his group hear his transmission and attempt to make contact.)_

An eerily haunting feeling nagged at Shane as he walked out of Lori and Carl's tent at the camp they had settled in just outside of Atlanta, Georgia. There was no mistaking the owner of the voice that had come over the radio just minutes ago, calling out to them from what was obviously an automobile. As he sat down on a dried log and brushed his fingers through his dusty black hair, he began pondering the voice's origin.

The voice had belonged to none other than his best friend, Deputy Rick Grimes.

Although he couldn't conceivably explain its possibility, he just knew it to be true. Having known the other officer for so long was all the convincing evidence he needed. Even though people sounded different when they spoke into a radio, as they did on a telephone's answering machine, their voices were still identifiable and memorable. He'd heard Rick speak calmly into that radio, bark angrily into it, and even scream into it. Rick's voice, whether in person or reverberating through an electronic communication device, was something that Shane could never, ever forget.

On top of that, Shane had heard the man on the other end of that MARCS radio speak in the manner of a police officer. More importantly, he'd even tuned onto the emergency frequency, channel 4, as the King County SRT always did. Other counties used different frequencies for their emergency broadcasts in order to prevent crossover of radio traffic during catastrophes. As a member of his SWAT team, Rick would have known that. And the chances of a layperson getting his hands on an unencrypted MARCS radio was slim to none, regardless of whether it was a portable or one inside of a police car.

Rick, or whoever that man had been, had specifically said, _"Broadcasting on emergency channel. Will be approaching Atlanta on Highway 85. If anybody reads, please respond."_ It was unerringly what he had been trained to do during a military operation, a separation from the SWAT group, an evacuation, or in the event of a bomb or terrorist attack. And it was exactly why Shane had chosen to identify himself when he tried to reach the individual who was potentially his best friend.

When Shane saw movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned and saw old Dale Horvath quietly ambling over to him. He scooted to one side of the fallen log so the elderly man could sit beside him. Dale took his old floppy hat off and wiped sweat from his brow before swinging his rifle off of his shoulder and taking a seat next to the seasoned deputy.

"You all right, son?" Dale asked with concern.

"Yeah," Shane replied softly with a nod. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"Well ya just seemed a little perturbed about losing that guy on the radio," Dale explained in his usual, patient accent. "Especially when he said he was heading to Atlanta. Boy, I sure hope he sees what's gone on there and turns around before he finds himself in a sticky situation. It's bad up there. If he comes back this way though, we'll reach him next time."

Shane merely rubbed at his eyes, which were profoundly laden with exhaustion, the ache of mourning, and now, frustration and confusion.

"Try not to think about it," Dale suggested. "We can't let ourselves dwell on these things. I'm sure that guy will survive if he's made it this long."

"It ain't that," Shane finally admitted.

Dale cocked his head at Shane, curious for details.

"That voice sounded like that of my best friend. It sounded like Rick."

"Rick Grimes?" Dale wondered with a bewildered look. "Lori's husband?"

"Yeah . . ."

"But you guys told me he died . . ."

"I know," Shane breathed with misunderstanding. "He is dead. I was in that hospital. I couldn't get him out to save him. He was in a coma when the power went out. I couldn't find a pulse. But my God, Dale, I know Rick 'n I know his voice. He's been a part of my life since we was in middle school 'n I could never mistake him for nobody."

"What did Lori say?" Dale wondered, remembering that he'd seen Shane and her walk off to her tent right after the radio call.

"Nothing," Shane grumbled. "I don't think she recognised it. She ain't heard Rick's voice over the radio like I have."

"Is this why you've been clinging so tightly to that radio since we met up? Cuz of him?"

"Nah," Shane confessed. "I accepted Rick's death when I couldn't find his heartbeat. Well, I didn't _accept_ it, but . . . well, ya know what I mean."

"Who are you waiting to hear from, then?" Dale pressed.

"Kat," Shane sighed forlornly. "I've been waiting . . . hoping . . . to hear Kat call out to me."

"Kat? Wasn't she your wife?"

"Yeah." Shane reached into his back pocket and retrieved a small metal object, which he offered to Dale. The white haired man took the little golden star, which was Kat's badge, and inspected it. "We weren't married, though . . . yet."

"238," Dale observed with a smile. "Her officer number?"

Shane nodded.

"At least you have something to remember her by."

"I found it in a puddle of blood, at the hospital when we tried to evacuate it," Shane explained. "I didn't find her body. Then I realised that my radio had died so I couldn't reach her, or nobody."

"Do you know what happened to her?" Dale had briefly been filled in about Kat's death by Carl when the group had first met up. The youngster had been too upset about everything to really elaborate about her or his father, however.

"I can only assume the walkers got her," Shane vented heavily. He began rubbing his eyes again, trying to stave off emotion. "That's all I found. I tried to find her, call out to her, but . . . nothing."

"You know, maybe she's still alive," Dale suggested. His voice was tender as always, and filled with hope.

"She would have found me," Shane spluttered, boldly shaking his head. "She would've gotten back to our kids. I couldn't find 'em, either. They were at her house, but when I got back there, they were gone."

"How do you know it was the walkers that got her?"

"What else would it have been?"

"Well, you guys were using deadly weapons and you said the other day that the military came in." Dale lowered his voice and leaned closer to Shane to prevent the kids from hearing their conversation. "Do you think that maybe, just maybe, she may have gotten shot? Like Rick did, during that shootout you told us about?"

Somewhat startled by the new possible cause of Kat's death, Shane shook his head rapidly and looked up at Dale with wide, almost petrified, eyes.

"If she did, then perhaps the officer or soldier that hit her realised what he'd done and got her to safety," Dale continued. "You said Rick fell unconscious shortly after he was shot. Maybe she did too. And since you said your radio died, you wouldn't have known."

"Shit," Shane hissed, as once again, his mind started racing. His calloused hand fell over his mouth and his eyes darted about as if he were frantically searching the ground for a tiny item that he had dropped.

"I'm just saying," Dale said with a shrug. "You shouldn't assume things like that. I'm not trying to sound punishing or anything, and I can understand why you're thinking it probably_ was_ walkers, especially given the circumstances. And I'm not saying she _did_ get shot; it's just a suggestion."

"There was so much blood, though . . . so much blood. I don't think anybody could have survived that much blood loss."

"Your answer will come, someday," Dale assured him. "You'd be amazed by what the human body can endure. Trust me, I know. Just look at all the veterans who came home from wars without legs, or who had grenades explode in their hands, or who took bullets through vital organs but managed to survive. And out there on the battlefield, there's rarely a hospital for miles, let alone one that will accept an enemy soldier. Yet many of our soldiers came home alive despite their injuries, blood loss, and disabilities."

Silence gapped the conversation for several extended moments as Dale waited for a response. "Right before we got separated at the hospital, Kat told me that she wasn't gunna die. She _promised_ me that she wasn't gunna die," Shane finally spoke. His trembling voice was stressed and ridden with emotion.

"And was she a woman of her word?" Dale inquired.

"Always."

"Then you must do more than hope that she kept her word. You must _believe_ that she kept it." Dale smiled softly and patted Shane on the shoulder. "Even though the probability of her survival is slim, the possibility is still there. You need to think positively, son. The same goes for your children, as well."

Shane simply nodded, his lips pursed as he tried to think of something to say amidst his scrambled thoughts. "I miss her and my kids so much," he finally spoke. "I feel like my life has lost all its purpose and meaning."

"I completely understand," Dale agreed, handing the gold-plated badge back to Shane. "You know, when my wife died, I didn't think I could go on. I had no reason to go on. I hated the world, I hated God, and I hated the disease of cancer for taking her. Nobody will ever replace her. But you know what? I found a reason to go on."

Shane looked up again at the older man, who had quickly been recognised as the wisest member of the group.

"I found Amy and Andrea," Dale continued. "They lost a lot of loved ones too, and when we met up, it was like they filled the void of loneliness that consumed me. It was like they became the daughters I never had. Then I found you, Lori and Carl, Sophia and her mom, and then Glenn, Jim, T-Dog, and the rest of us. I found people who needed me just as much as I needed them. We're all like a big family now. We stick together, watch out for each other, eat together, bicker with one another, and even have fun together. Nobody in this camp will ever replace my Erma, but they do fill the void in a way that makes it . . . a little easier."

"Yeah . . . yeah that's true, too."

"You may have lost your wife-to-be and your babies, and I know nobody will ever replace them if they actually are no longer with us, but you have Rick's wife and son to look after. Lori and Carl aren't your wife and son, and you will never love them as such, but you could always think of them as, say, a surrogate family."

"You think so?"

"I do." Dale nodded almost frantically. "Plus there's Carol, and you've got little Sophia over there, and let me tell you, she needs a strong male figure like yourself in her life. That father of hers is a piece of garbage."

"No shit," Shane growled. "He shot my oldest daughter when she resurrected, then acted like it was no big deal." He made a fist in anger after recapping his own memory of what Ed had done, then silently prayed that he would one day get the opportunity to throw that fist right in Ed's face.

"That's horrible," Dale concurred with a sigh. "I just don't know about him."

"Me either."

"At least you have something to remember your Kat by," Dale reminded him, referencing the badge. "Do you have pictures of her and your children?"

"Yeah, in my wallet. I also have our photo albums in my tent."

"Look at them often, especially when you're feeling down. They will give you strength and make you feel a little better. Whether they are still in this world or departed from it, they're still with you in a way. So you keep looking at those pictures, praying, and using your memories as inspiration to find them."

Shane nodded. "I do."

As Dale went to stand up, he paused and spoke once more. "And keep your hopes up, son; you just might see her again."

"I hope so. Thanks Dale."

* * *

><p><em>SEASON 1 – EPISODE 3<em>

_(Rick Grimes has just arrived at camp. This scene takes place right after he is seen talking with the group at their bonfire and right before he goes to sleep in the tent with Lori and Carl.)_

Roller coasters had never been a ride that Shane had taken pleasure in at any theme park, not even as an adventure-seeking child. It wasn't because of the heights, the tickle of free fall in his belly, or a fear of the steel support beams breaking. Restraints and lack of control—too opposing forces in the real world—were the contributing factors behind his hatred of roller coasters. The uncomfortable chairs never presented him with a feeling of security beneath the heavy metal triangles that dipped over his shoulders and clasped between his legs like an oversized booster seat. Yet every time one of his childhood buddies had peer pressured him into a spin on _The Predator_ at Darien Lake in New York, _The Wicked Twister_ up at Cedar Point in Ohio, or any other stupid inverted speed demon, Shane's dreaded insecurity inside of the miniature train car was coupled with knowing that he had absolutely no control over what was happening. He couldn't move, he couldn't escape, he couldn't prevent the powerful machine from throwing his neck out of alignment each time it jolted him from side to side. Not until it was over, at least, at which point he would step off of the vehicle feeling as if he wasn't even real. He would feel boneless and wobbly like a bowl of Jell-O and the blood pounding through his head would advance his dizziness until it was all he could do not to topple over or vomit.

Shane felt as if he had been on a roller coaster for the past month, one which didn't have a stopping point in sight. Thus was the nature of emotional roller coasters, and it actually made him wish he could trade it in for a ride on a tangible one. At least the ones found in amusement parks were predictable, brief, and physical. Emotional roller coasters, on the other hand, offered no positive aspects. They dragged on and on, twisted in inconceivable directions, became stuck in dangerous positions, and ascended slowly into outrageously steep mountains that practically defied the laws of psychological physics before climaxing into abrupt plummets at lightning fast speeds capable of ripping mental flesh off of bone. Sometimes they even crashed. Right now, Shane felt as if his emotional roller coaster had just driven him into a brick wall and derailed.

It had happened several times in the last few weeks. Each time, his roller coaster's train car would magically pick itself back up, realign, and continue on its way. And whenever it did that, it restarted its journey with fresh dents and malfunctions that were seemingly irreparable. It also didn't help that his roller coaster was currently positioned right over and all around his mind's psychopathic active volcano.

Looking into the eyes of Rick Grimes had been the catalyst that derailed Shane's mental roller coaster. He knew he'd heard Rick's voice calling out over the radio the previous day. He was never wrong about things like that. But he just couldn't believe what he knew to be factual. Even now, with his best friend reunited with him and his family, he just couldn't believe it.

And thanks to Rick's miraculous and seemingly inconceivable appearance, alive and well, Shane had to allow himself to wonder if his beloved Katharine would do the same. He didn't just wonder if she would, he hoped for it. He prayed for it. He _begged_ for it. Dale had told him to believe in her survival, to trust her word. Shane was trying his hardest to do just that, but he felt as if he was constantly falling short of staunch faith.

Shane also beat himself up over it. He'd left Rick in that hospital without even attempting CPR. He'd left him in a walker-infested infirmary with nothing more than a gurney to protect him from their drooling mouths. And he'd left the mother of his own children in there as well, with absolutely nothing to defend herself.

And after he'd done that, he'd subconsciously turned on them both. He hadn't meant to; he was simply following Dale's advice by trying to fill the void of losing them. He'd not only taken care of Rick's son by treating Carl as if he were one of his own kids, he'd also slept with his wife—multiple times now. And in doing so, especially the latter, he'd betrayed them. Even if death had been their fate, Shane knew he shouldn't have done what he had. He felt as if he were arguably the worst surviving person on the planet for what he had done.

Rick would never have wanted him to sleep with Lori. Surely he would have expected Shane to watch over them, especially in a world turned upside down, but intimacy would definitely have been out of the question.

Shane tried to convince himself that Lori had been a rebound. He'd done it before. After breakups with girlfriends in the now distant past, he sometimes found a fuck buddy to help him get over the pain of loss. He didn't regret those past rebounds, because they truly did work. Kat had done it; she'd admitted during one of their many fights that Shane had been nothing but a rebound to her in the beginning. He wasn't sure if she meant it, but it didn't matter because in the end, she had come to fall in love with him—or so she had claimed. It may have taken her over six years to admit it, but she eventually did, nonetheless.

A soft clanking noise distracted Shane from his tumbling thoughts. He flinched and tightened the grip he held on his precious Mossberg 590; his eyes darted in their sockets as he scanned the surrounding darkness for zombies.

"Relax," a sleepy voice called from behind him.

Shane turned his head over his shoulder to see Rick Grimes pulling himself up onto the roof of the RV via its steel ladder.

"Scared the shit outta me, man," Shane murmured with a one-sided grin.

Rick chuckled softly. He eased into Dale's vacant fold-up chair and sighed heavily. Shane could see the exhaustion in his eyes, as well as the bags beneath them.

"Ain't that my shirt?" Rick asked, pointing to Shane's chest.

"Heh, yeah," Shane admitted. He looked down at the shirt and smirked awkwardly. "Didn't have time to run home 'n pack before we left for Atlanta. Lori said I could wear the clothes she'd packed for you, since you 'n I both wear an XL 'n all."

"No big deal," Rick replied. "There's a whole bag full of my stuff in the tent and I don't need it all. Take what you need."

"Thanks, man."

"Lori packed clothes for me?" Rick suddenly wondered. He hadn't thought to question it earlier. "Why?"

Once his friend had settled into Dale's chair, Shane turned away from him and continued to scan the shadows for movement. "We all thought you were going to be airlifted to Kindred Hospital to finish your recovery. Lori packed your things because she believed it would happen."

"What happened at Harrison Memorial? Why wasn't I put on MedFlight?" It was clear that Rick was desperate for an explanation by the look in his eyes and his tone of voice.

It was an explanation that Shane dreaded having to give.

"The hospital looked like a warzone when I woke up," Rick added. He stared blankly at the ground over the makeshift cliff that was the RV as he spoke. "I was terrified. I thought it was some kind of nightmare."

"Six of us from King County SRT joined up with the military and Atlanta Police Department," Shane explained, deciding to start from the beginning. "Our goal was to clear the hospital by killing all of the walkers inside 'n evacuating the patients who hadn't been bit. The worst patients were to be transported via medivac once all of the walkers had been killed. We ran out of ammo . . . Chief Richey of Atlanta PD aborted the mission before we could even make a dent in the number of walkers inside. Once she had given the order to abort, Kat sent me to go get you out. I tried Rick, I really did. Just when I was about to get you on that gurney the power went out from an explosion of some sort 'n I lost you. All of your life support shit lost power. I checked for your pulse but . . . I couldn't . . . I just couldn't find it. I swear to God, man, I couldn't find your pulse. I thought you had died right there. I'm sorry, Brother. I'm so sorry."

The memory of his death experience suddenly flooded back into Rick's mind and he squeezed his eyes shut. The blinding white light, the thin road, the graveyard, Kat, her bloody hands, and every other detail flashed back to him behind his closed eyelids as if he had returned to its haunting existence once again.

"I don't know why I did what I did," Shane was rambling. "I shoulda tried CPR and I don't know what I was think'n but my mind just went blank. I panicked. In the moment, I just didn't know what to do . . . I honestly thought you died."

"I did die," Rick said monotonously, his voice distant as the grotesque memory of his afterlife experience played through his memory like a television show rerun. "I died and then I came back to life."

"What? How?" Shane gasped in a slight, disbelieving whisper.

"I dunno," Rick breathed. "Spontaneous resurrection, I guess."

Shane fell quiet. He finished his careful scan of the camp's outskirts and used the temporary silence in their conversation to hone in on the noises of nature, his ears searching among them for anything out of the ordinary. Satisfied that everything he heard originated from the wind and living creatures, he sat down in his own chair and sighed heavily, looking at Rick with wide, almost terrified eyes. He feared what would happen if the man ever found out about his secret relationship with Lori. And given his closeness with Rick and the other man's ability to read him like a book, he knew it wouldn't be long before realisation hit him like an anvil on the head.

He didn't know what to say. His mind raced but his scrambled thoughts failed to correct themselves into anything corporeal.

Rick's eyes were closed and Shane understood that he was in deep thought. He looked at peace for several drawn out moments, then his eyebrows clenched in what appeared to be confusion.

"You okay, man?" he finally asked.

Rick's eyes flew open and his head twitched. Shane's voice had startled him from his mind's replay of the paranormal graveyard scene.

"Yeah . . . yeah, I'm all right," Rick confirmed with a hasty nod. "Just thinking, is all."

"We all do a lot of that these days," Shane commented.

Rick simply nodded, staring off into space. He contemplated telling Shane about his death experience and Kat's presence in their shared entrance to the afterlife. While sitting at the bonfire with his new group, Shane had filled him in about Kat's mysterious disappearance and had shown him her bent badge that he had found in a massive puddle of blood. Seeing the little gold star had only confirmed to Rick that what he and Kat had experienced had actually happened. Kat's badge had been missing from her uniform in the afterlife. Part of her identity had been cleaved from her by friendly fire; it was significant—just as significant as he now knew her bloody hands had to be. But what the blood's significance was, Rick couldn't tell just yet.

Shane did not know about Kat's definitive fate. Rick did.

He knew he should have told Shane. It was the right thing to do, after all. But knowing Shane and his overly emotional mind, it would send him into a state of absolute insanity. He deserved to know that Katharine had been shot and killed. He deserved to know because he loved her more than anything. He deserved to know because Shane was his best friend.

But Rick knew in his soul that Shane would not be able to handle it, even if he did leave out important details, such as Kat's bloody hands, the premonitions about the virus, the open graves containing their personalised headstones, and what he and Kat had experienced after finding their own corpses within them . . .

Rick figured he was going to regret his decision not to tell Shane. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it either. If he needed an excuse as to why he was avoiding it, he would have simply said that at the moment, he was just too damn exhausted.

"Thank you," he finally said, trying to force his own guilt over harbouring the information away.

Shane looked over at him with one of his thick eyebrows raised. "For what, man?"

"For getting Lori and Carl out of King County and keeping them safe."

Shane shrugged slightly. "Had to do it, ya know. Couldn't just leave 'em back there. It was the least I could do for ya, Bro."

"It really means a lot to me," Rick emphasised with a smile. "You have no idea just how much it means. You're a great friend, Shane."

Shane tried to smile, but couldn't bring himself to do it. "You should get to bed, man. With bags like those under your eyes, you're gunna end up looking like one of _them_."

He was referring to the zombies, of course. Rick chuckled; it felt odd taking even simple amusement in their apocalyptic situation.

"You all right up here?" Rick asked, concerned. He knew his friend was tired, sleep deprived, stressed, and that he had a lot on his mind.

Shane simply nodded.

"Don't stay up too late then," he added before climbing back down the little ladder and walking over to his tent.

Shane watched him disappear into Lori's tent. It disturbed him to know that less than twenty-four hours ago, he had been thrusting madly into Lori's lustful depths, thinking that he had the right to do so and enjoying every moment of it.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair that Rick had miraculously overcome his near-death experience, let alone to be reunited with his family. Shane resented him for it—not because he hated Rick or wanted him dead, but because he wanted the same. He deserved the same. He deserved to be reunited with Kat and his children as if nothing had ever happened to them.

But as life would have it, Shane knew that it would never happen.

* * *

><p>PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW! Please? :D<p>

No reviews, no updates.

No reviews, I bitez you.

The motorcycle accident you read about is based on a true story that happened several years ago in which a man, riding his motorcycle at night, hit a deer and was subsequently run over and killed by a semi on SR 65. I did not know him, I do not remember his name, and I was not there, but I did read the police report several years ago at work one day and the truck driver's written testimony of what happened always stuck with me so I decided to incorporate it into this story.

Do you have any suggestions, ideas, comments, or critiques? Pairings you'd like to see? Characters you would like to see zombified or just flat out eaten alive? Suggest away in your review!

_**My Zombie Valentine**_ copyright © **28 March 2012** by _**Darkinyron**_

_**The Walking Dead **_copyright © _**Robert Kirkman**_


	8. Sulfur

**MY ZOMBIE VALENTINE  
><strong>**By: Darkinyron**

I am so happy to see that my fans enjoyed the last chapter! I was really worried about it and I wasn't sure how it would be taken. I'd like to thank you, my reviewers, for your kind words thus far! :) And also too I want to thank you guys for sticking with me even after this story had its little hiatus episode . . . that really means the world to me! I hope the people who haven't returned yet do soon!

Just an FYI—there probably won't be too much zombie gore in these next couple of chapters but don't worry! Once we get past the TV show part of this story you'll see that the walkers will come to play a _very_ important role in it!

* * *

><p><strong>~ CHAPTER EIGHT ~<strong>

**SULFUR**

_SEASON 1 – EPISODE 3_

_(Lori Grimes has just ordered Shane to stay away from Carl and has prohibited him from speaking to either of them. Lori seems to accuse Shane of lying to her about Rick's death. Right after she storms off, Shane witnesses a fight break out between Ed Peletier and the women. Ed slaps Carol across the face. Having had enough with Ed, Shane intervenes by ripping him away from the women, throwing him on the ground, and beating him to a pulp.)_

THROWING HIS FIST in another man's face had never felt so good.

It was unbelievable how some people could depreciate the value of their spouses from irreplaceably priceless to worthlessly disposable. As if the mere idea of such a ridiculous concept wasn't sickening enough, the reality of it was gut wrenching. Men like Ed Peletier were a disease that needed to be eradicated. When he'd worked regular hours at the King County Sheriff's Department, Shane always made sure that every act of domestic violence he encountered was dealt with in the most severe and effective manner possible. In Shane's mind though, even the harshest domestic violence law was not enough. Some of the abusers, he believed, deserved to be the receivers of twice the level of torturous exploitation.

Shane wasn't sure why he'd stopped rearranging Ed's face. In the heat of the moment, he certainly wanted to kill the smoky bastard who he knew had been battering his wife and daughter, both physically and mentally, for years. Carol and Sophia didn't deserve his abuse. They were sweet people without a disrespectful bone in their bodies. Ed deserved to die for his crimes against them.

What sickened him the most was watching Carol explode into erratic, rueful sobs. Once he'd somehow decided that Ed had learned his lesson and pulled away, Ed's wife had practically fallen by his side, spluttering incoherent apologies and beseeches for forgiveness. Carol's response to what Shane thought was an act of retribution in her honour was not only disturbing in every way possible, it was also heartbreaking.

Upset and infuriated, Shane stormed up the hill and went straight to his tent, leaving Carol and the other ladies to deal with the slobbering, gagging mess he'd left for them. He grabbed a set of keys that went to his Jeep Wrangler before storming out and heading towards it.

"Where ya going?" Dale questioned from somewhere behind him.

"Nowhere!" Shane exclaimed angrily over his shoulder. "Just leave me alone for a lil bit! I need a few minutes to myself."

"Well all right but don't go too far!"

"Just go'n to my Jeep, Dale. Need some AC and some privacy if ya don't mind!"

The cold air that caressed Shane's face felt better than a hot shower on an achy back when his Jeep's engine adjusted its fans to the freezing setting he'd asked of it. He threw his head back against his seat and let the quiet hum of his engine relax him for several minutes. His truck's radio was quietly playing some Lady Gaga song off of Kat's mix CD. Annoyed by the strange woman's synthetic voice, he skimmed through the CD's music until he found one of Eminem's songs on it. It sucked living in a world mostly devoid of music, but Shane was thankful for CDs when he heard both his and his girlfriend's favourite rapper's voice.

_"Yeah . . . I know sometimes things may not always make sense to you right now  
><em>_But hey, what'd daddy always tell you?  
><em>_Straighten up, little soldier  
><em>_Stiffen up that upper lip  
><em>_Whatchu cry'n about?  
><em>_You got me!"_

Now that his adrenaline was settled, he reached into his glove box and yanked his wallet out. As Eminem's voice switched from simple speech to the actual rap, Shane hurriedly flipped through its clear picture slots until he found the image he was looking for.

_"Hailey I know you miss your mom, 'n I know you miss your dad  
><em>_When I'm gone but I'm tryna give you the life that I neva had  
><em>_I can see you're sad, even when you smile, even when you laugh  
><em>_I can see it in your eyes, deep inside you wanna cry"_

It was a small photograph—one of himself with Erin Burke sitting on his lap. They were outside on his back porch in the middle of summer, getting ready to enjoy an evening barbeque. The little blonde girl's baseball bat was dangling from one hand, a small blue ribbon in the other. She proudly displayed her prize to the camera by holding it up and beaming with a smile. Shane's own smile rivalled the little champion's as he held her up on his lap. Behind them and off to the side, Kat was tending to the barbeque. She'd paused and posed for the picture in the midst of turning hot dogs. She was also almost nine months pregnant with their twins in that photograph. The grin spread on her face was one of the things he'd loved about her the most. And for once, her expression was genuine. Kat couldn't fake a smile. Well, it wasn't that she couldn't; it was that she refused.

"_Cuz you're scared, I ain't here?  
><em>_Daddy's wit' you in your prayers  
><em>_No more crying, wipe them tears  
><em>_Daddy's here, no more nightmares  
><em>_We gun pull together through it, we gun do it  
><em>_Lainie's Uncle's crazy, ain't he?  
><em>_Yeah, but he loves you girl 'n you better know it"_

"Did you see me, Erin?" Shane asked the picture. He had removed it from its casing and was holding it up in front of his face with his bloody, trembling hands.

His voice sounded desperate. Its pitch quivered with responsive sentiment just as much as his hands were in reaction to repeatedly coming in contact with Ed Peletier's teeth and face. Eminem's lyrics fed his emotions, planting an indirect yet personal message into Shane's subliminal mind as he listened.

"_We're all we got in dis world  
><em>_When it spins, when it swirls  
><em>_When it whirls, when it twirls  
><em>_Two little beautiful girls  
><em>_Look'n puzzled, in a daze  
><em>_I know it's confusing you  
><em>_Daddy's always on the move  
><em>_Mama's always on the news"_

"Did you see me, baby girl?" he enquired again. "I did that for you, Erin. I did it for you! I hit Ed, because he hurts people. He hurt _you_. He inflicted pain upon you that had to be excruciating. Why, Erin? Why did he have to go and do that?"

The photograph remained stationary; Shane didn't really expect it to do anything else, but subconsciously he wished it could.

"_I try to keep you sheltered from it but somehow it seems  
><em>_The harder that I try to do that, the more it backfires on me  
><em>_All the things grow'n up your daddy had to see  
><em>_Daddy don't want you to see but you see just as much as he did  
><em>_We did not plan it to be this way, your mother 'n me  
><em>_But things have got so bad between us  
><em>_I don't see us ever be'n together ever again  
><em>_Like we used to be when we was teenagers  
><em>_But then again of course, everything always happens for a reason"_

"He's a bad man Erin, and I punished him for it. Are you proud of me? Are you proud of your daddy for getting revenge for you?"

"_I guess it was never meant to be  
><em>_But it's just something we have no control over and that's what destiny is  
><em>_But no more worries, rest your head, 'n go to sleep  
><em>_Maybe one day we'll wake up and this'll all just be a dream . . ."_

Shane wasn't even aware of the tears streaming down his face. He was so focused on his adoptive daughter's ghost and the rapper who practically spoke to him in his own related way that he could not even comprehend the insanity level at which he was speaking. His emotions dictated him in that moment, spilling out of him all at once. His vision blurred, skewing the photograph's perfect capture with his body's own physical illusion. Forceful blinks of his eyes gave him split-second clear glimpses of his deceased family while his throat gurgled under the pressure of his emotional outburst.

_"Now hush little baby don't you cry  
><em>_Everything's gunna be all right  
><em>_Stiffen that upper lip up, little lady  
><em>_I told ya, daddy's here to hold ya through the night  
><em>_I know mommy's not here right now 'n we don't know why  
><em>_We feel how we feel inside  
><em>_It may seem a little crazy, pretty baby  
><em>_But I promise mama's gun be all right"_

"I'm so sorry! I failed you . . . I failed you and your mom. Erin, I'm so sorry. If I could bring you back, I would. I would trade places with you in a heartbeat. You deserve to be here, baby. I don't. You and your mom should be here in my place!"

_"It's funny, I remember back one year  
><em>_When daddy had no money  
><em>_Mommy wrapped the Christmas presents up  
><em>_'N stuck 'em under the tree  
><em>_'N said some of 'em were from me  
><em>_Cuz daddy couldn't buy 'em  
><em>_I'll never forget that Christmas  
><em>_I sat up the whole night cry'n  
><em>_Cuz daddy felt like a bum  
><em>_See daddy had a job  
><em>_But his job was to keep the food on the table for you 'n mom  
><em>_'N at the time, every house that we lived in  
><em>_Either kept get'n broken into 'n robbed  
><em>_Or shot up on the block  
><em>_And your mom was saving money for you in a jar  
><em>_Tryna start a piggy bank for you  
><em>_So you could go to college  
><em>_Almost had a thousand dollars in it  
><em>_'Til someone broke in 'n stole it  
><em>_And I know it hurt so bad, it broke your mama's heart  
><em>_And it seemed like everything was just start'n to fall apart  
><em>_Mom 'n dad was argue'n a lot  
><em>_So mama moved back in the Chalmers  
><em>_In a flat one bedroom apartment  
><em>_'N daddy moved back to the otha side of 8 Mile, Novara"_

Even though Eminem was singing about the hardships life had dealt him, such as separation and his children missing him because he was away from home due to his fame and his wife hurting them with her drug addiction, he'd always meant for his fans to figuratively apply the lyrics to their own lives and take comfort in them. That's what Shane liked about his songs, and it made him smile remembering that Kat had introduced him to his music. As he listened, he totally related regarding his numerous separations from the addictively detached Kat and knowing that even though he wasn't there for his daughter in the moment she needed him most, he had still done his best to raise her right and protect her. Plus, the rapper had also adopted children that weren't biologically his. Some of Erin's last words to Shane before she had passed away were that she loved him and it wasn't his fault but her own that she had gotten scratched. She didn't want him to blame himself; her fifth grade teacher had after all drilled into her students' minds that they needed to stay indoors and avoid sick people. Erin hadn't taken the warning seriously and had suffered because of it. For such a young child, she took great responsibility for her own actions. And in her final moments she told Shane that he'd always be the best daddy a girl could ask for; he was all that mattered because only he had truly filled the male parental role for her. And she'd promised to always watch over him and her mom.

_"And that's when daddy went to California wit' his CD 'n met Dr. Dre  
><em>_'N flew you 'n mama out to see me  
><em>_But daddy had to work, you 'n mama had to leave me  
><em>_Then you started see'n daddy on the TV 'n mama didn't like it  
><em>_And you 'n Lainie were too young to understand it  
><em>_Papa was a roll'n stone, mama developed a habit  
><em>_And it all happened too fast for either one of us to grab it  
><em>_I'm just sorry you were there 'n had to witness it first hand  
><em>_Cuz all I eva wanted to do was just make you proud  
><em>_Now I'm sit'n in this empty house, just reminiscing  
><em>_Look'n at your baby pictures, it just trips me out  
><em>_To see how much you both have grown  
><em>_It's almost like you're sisters now  
><em>_Wow . . . I guess you pretty much are 'n daddy's still here  
><em>_Lainie I'm talk'n to you too, daddy's still here  
><em>_I like the sound of that, yeah  
><em>_It's got a ring to it, don't it?  
><em>_Shhhh, mama's only gone for the moment . . ."_

After the initial nervous breakdown Shane had experienced once Ed had executed his daughter's revenant, Shane had locked up. He couldn't comprehend how Kat did it—how whenever something tragic would happen in her life, she'd just zone into her own little world, bottle it up in some mental storage facility, and then be on her way as if nothing had ever happened. Shane's mental garages couldn't hold even a fraction of the devastation that hers could, and he couldn't wrap his head around how or why. It was like trying to imagine the size of the Sun or the distance from one end of the galaxy to the other. His human mind couldn't achieve any of that, but he figured that Kat's emotional storage facility must have been on some kind of galactic scale as far as its capacity was concerned. Either that, or Kat was in her own way like Eminem's wife—a drug addict who covered her problems with cocaine.

"_Now hush little baby don't you cry  
><em>_Everything's gunna be all right  
><em>_Stiffen that upper lip up, little lady  
><em>_I told ya, daddy's here to hold ya through the night  
><em>_I know mommy's not here right now 'n we don't know why  
><em>_We feel how we feel inside  
><em>_It may seem a little crazy, pretty baby  
><em>_But I promise mama's gun be all right"_

_"And if you ask me to  
><em>_Daddy's gunna buy you a mockingbird  
><em>_Imma give you the world  
><em>_Imma buy a diamond ring for you  
><em>_Imma sing for you  
><em>_I'll do anything for you to see you smile  
><em>_And if that mockingbird don't sing 'n that ring don't shine  
><em>_Imma break that birdy's neck  
><em>_I'll go back to the jeweller who sold it to ya  
><em>_'N make him eat ev'ry carat  
><em>_Don't fuck with dad . . . haha!"_

Shane wished he could say that stuff to Erin now. But he could only speak to her spirit and cry for her, saying that he was sorry and hoping that justice had been done in her transcendent eyes. He swallowed hard, suddenly remembering how he had always told Erin to be a big girl and hold back her tears; now he was being nothing but a hypocrite.

Taking a few minutes to get a hold of himself was easier said than done. He looked around, hoping no one had watched his bout of emotional release and sighed with relief when he saw nobody. The people who looked up to him didn't need to see his weakness erupt. Shane ejected the CD and played with the radio a little bit, flipping between FM and AM stations in the hopes of finding some other source of life outside of his little camp. Only static filled his ears; and with that disappointment came a dampening on his hopes.

* * *

><p><em>SEASON 1 – EPISODE 5<em>

_(Rick Grimes is just outside of camp, using his police radio in an attempt to contact Morgan Jones. He has just told him that he found his family and tells him where he can find their campground. Morgan does not respond.)_

"Do _not_ enter the city! It belongs to the dead now!" Rick felt the need to enforce something he'd said earlier in the transmission to emphasise just how important it was for Morgan and his young son to evade Atlanta, Georgia at all costs.

The rejuvenated policeman listened for a few extra moments, feeling his hopes diminish with the scratchy constant that was his radio's static. He prayed that Morgan and Duane were okay; they'd survived this long in spite of everything, so why wouldn't they be? _He_ had survived this far, and he'd only learned about the zombie apocalypse a week ago when his new hero of a friend had explained it to him. And Rick knew that if he could survive with a still-healing gunshot wound and hardly any walker-killing experience that Morgan and Duane could survive without a problem.

Rick checked his radio; it was set to the correct frequency that he'd told Morgan to speak to him on. He hoped that Morgan's radio hadn't broken, run out of battery juice, or gotten lost. He'd shown him how to properly use it before Leon Bassett had shown up as a walker. Rick could only hope now that Morgan remembered and that he was still alive _to_ remember. Morgan and Duane didn't deserve to end up like Leon Bassett had, especially after they'd taken him in and nursed him back to health. Good people needed to be the sole survivors in this era.

Looking up at the pink and orange sky, Rick realised that it probably wasn't even 7 AM yet. Perhaps Morgan and Duane were simply still in bed. They needed their rest, after all.

After listening for a short while and deciding that Morgan probably just wasn't up yet, Rick had an idea. He switched the radio to its emergency SRT frequency—channel 4, and unencrypted it.

"770 to 500 . . ." Rick called to the sheriff of King County. He released the transmission button and waited; Sheriff Everhart did not respond.

"770 to 500 . . . ?" he tried again a minute later.

Discourage was building, but Rick knew _somebody_ had to be out there.

"770 to 1835 . . . ?" Perhaps Sergeant Ring was still alive.

Rick rested his forehead in the crook of his arm. The reality of this new world hadn't quite hit him all the way yet, and the sheer thought of his entire department being deceased or undead was not one he was ready to face.

Rick picked his head up, frustrated by the annoying static that his radio was emitting. "1835, please respond," he practically begged.

A ray of sunlight escaped through some tree branches right in front of him and caught Rick's eye. He squinted in repulsion to the star's blinding vigour and was reminded of a place that had recently had that ophthalmic effect on him.

Taking a deep breath, Rick Grimes lifted the little communication device back up to his face and pressed its transmission button to attempt one last shot in what he knew to be blinding darkness.

"770 to 238 . . . ?"

* * *

><p><em>SEASON 1 – EPISODE 6<em>

_(Everybody has just arrived at the CDC and Dr. Jenner decided to let them in. He's doing a blood test on each group member to make sure they aren't infected with the zombie plague.)_

"What's the point?" Andrea was bitching. "If we were infected we'd all be running a fever."

"I've already broken every rule in the book let'n ya in here," Dr. Edwin Jenner was explaining. "Let me just . . . at least be thorough."

After a sterile cotton ball was taped onto the inside of her arm, Andrea stood up weakly. Jacqui noticed the blonde's hunger-induced dizziness and stepped forward, putting an arm around her waist to support her.

"You okay?" Dr. Jenner asked.

"She hasn't eaten in days," Jacqui divulged, her voice filled with both compassion and exhaustion. "None of us have."

The pale doctor glanced around at the deplorable band of survivors with a look of shock, though he soon realised that it wasn't all that surprising. He hadn't stepped outside in months after all, and he really didn't have any idea just how dangerous the world had become. Living day by day wasn't something he'd ever taken time to consider, let alone experience.

"Come with me," he ordered in his soft spoken voice.

The weak group forced themselves to stand up again and followed the strange loner through another underground hallway. He stopped at its end, swiped his identification card beside a door there, and entered once it had slid open with a soft hiss.

Sorrowful expressions instantly transformed into ones of sheer excitement when the group walked into the CDC's kitchen. It was basic and had more of a high school chemistry lab's appearance and feeling, but it was a kitchen nonetheless.

"There's enough food stockpiled down here to feed people for years," Edwin revealed. He watched their animated smiles grow and their eyes light up further. He pointed to an industrial sized walk-in freezer on the other side of the room and a hallway beside it leading to a large pantry. "There are all kinds of meats to choose from and a heavily stocked pantry. We've even got a small wine selection if you'd like some. Make yourselves some dinner."

Elated conversation erupted from everybody. Rick and Dale thanked the CDC's sole survivor, who nodded in return before heading back to his lab. As Rick was heading into the pantry, he was blocked by Shane who had a serious look on his face.

"What's the matter?"

"Come with me for a minute," Shane beckoned, keeping his voice low while the rest of their group let their hungers consume them.

"Where are we going? I'm hungry," Rick whined.

"I wanna ask Jenner something." Shane was already shuffling away in the direction of the scientist's labratory. Rick jogged a few steps to catch up with him.

"What? We need to eat. Let's just ask questions later."

Shane stopped suddenly and whirled around to face his best friend. Rick could see the broken feelings, worry, and pain etched all over his pseudo-brother's face. Shane looked in that moment as if he had aged ten years and Rick accepted that perhaps in some ways he had.

"What do you have to ask him so bad?" Rick asked gently.

"About Dorian . . ." Shane trailed off.

"Dorian Chambers?"

"Yeah. When you was in the hospital, Dorian was hired by the CDC to do research on the infected cadavers."

"And you think Jenner knows him?"

"He must, Rick."

"Shane, the CDC employed over 14,000 doctors. Do you really think he would know Dorian out of all of them? Especially since they probably hired _thousands_ more when the plague began?"

"But this guy is _studying _the plague. So was Dorian! The vast majority of those 14,000 people researched other infections and cures. The CDC specifically sought Dorian out because he works with corpses every single day! And when me 'n Kat went to talk with him after Erin was infected, he told us a lot about what he and the other doctors had learned about the plague. Well, it wasn't _a lot_, but he came up with quite a bit in the small amount of time he had. That man is a _genius_, Rick!"

"Oh trust me; I know that man is very smart."

"And after we took Erin to see him 'n he told us that stuff, we left her with him so he could watch over her 'n keep pumping her up with anti-viral meds. He had a meeting that same day, here at the CDC, to discuss his findings. He took Erin with him to that meeting. Plus, when this virus started to cause panic, some woman from the CDC named Candace Jenner was all over the TV on news stations 'n stuff telling the public what they knew about it . . . or at least, what they were willing to tell the public about it. She had the same last name as this guy, and she was researching it too. So this guy _must_ have known Dorian, at least from that meeting, and he must have known her too."

Rick nodded as he stared at the floor thinking deeply.

"It's worth a shot, ain't it? I wanna know where my kids are, man. You gotta understand that. You searched for Lori 'n you found her. That gave me hope cuz you found your family when they was a needle in a haystack. If you could be reunited with them, I can be reunited with my family."

"You don't even know if they're _alive_," Rick tried to reason with his pal, knowing that it was probably pointless because Shane never listened to rational advice anyways. "You told me they weren't at the house when you got there! What makes you think they're with Dorian, or if Dorian is even alive?"

"I don't," Shane admitted. "But I have to try. They're my _kids_, Rick."

Rick sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling, frustrated.

"I don't expect good news," Shane muttered. "But even if I do hear bad news from him, at least it'll be closure."

"All right," Rick relented after a long pause. "Let's go talk to him."

Just as the two men were about to walk out the kitchen's door, Carl's young voice stopped them.

"Dad, look!" the little boy called excitedly.

Rick and Shane glanced over their shoulders and saw Carl holding up a box of Pillsbury brownie mix. The innocent grin plastered on Carl's adolescent face was something Rick had not seen in a very, very long time.

"Mom's gunna make these!"

"Save some for me!" Rick replied with a grin.

"Yeah me too, little man. Your father's a hog!" Shane added with a smirk.

"There's more back there! We'll make _two_ boxes! Where're you guys going?"

"We're gunna go talk to Dr. Jenner for a few minutes," Rick explained. "Tell Mom so she doesn't get worried about us. We'll be back in a bit."

"Okay!" Carl exclaimed before dashing back into the pantry in search of his mother.

"You'll have to fill me in on what Dorian told you about this virus when we get a chance," Rick said almost deprecatingly as they blearily strolled back down the narrow corridor toward Zone 5.

"Alright."

Edwin Jenner was leaning over a microscope the size of a small pickup truck when Rick and Shane found him. He was completely absorbed in his work, keeping his eyes fixed on whatever slide he was viewing while scribbling down scrambled, messy notes on a sheet of paper without looking at it.

"Dr. Jenner?" Rick called hesitantly. His voice echoed softly against the underground laboratory's iron walls.

The blonde microbiologist yanked his gaze away from his studies for only a moment to make eye contact with the two police officers before redirecting it to the delicate lenses. "You two should be eating. You're going to fall over if you don't."

"They're in there cooking," Rick informed him. "It's gunna be a little bit before the food's ready."

"I wanted to ask you something that's very important," Shane chimed in, stepping forward. "If you don't mind being interrupted for a few minutes."

Edwin sighed before scooting his chair back away from the magnifying device. He stood, jotted down a few more observational remarks, and scuffled towards another door. "Come with me," he beckoned with a nod of his head.

Rick and Shane followed him into a smaller, cozier area that looked much like any other business's break room.

"Sit down," the doctor commanded jadedly. He then walked over to an old-style vending machine and opened it using a key that was already lodged in its lock. He retrieved two Snickers bars and tossed them on the table that the two cops were taking a seat at.

It had been months since either of them had seen a candy bar. All Rick and Shane could do for several drawn out seconds was gape at them almost implausibly as if they were made of solid gold.

"I'm serious," Dr. Jenner stressed sternly. "I don't even want to know what your blood sugar levels must be right now with the way your hands are trembling like that. _Eat_."

Shane and Rick suddenly tore into the chocolate bars like they had never seen food before. The scientist smirked when they leaned back in their chairs, happily savouring their first bites.

"So what is this important question you have for me?" Edwin queried, assuming it had something to do with the virus. Why else would they have come here, after all? His arms were crossed, but any irritation he'd felt over being bothered seemed to have vanished. It was nice having other humans to talk to after weeks of solitude, and Vy wasn't exactly the best company.

"Do you happen to know a man named Dorian Chambers?" Shane wondered stressfully as if he'd been holding in the question in the form of one giant breath. He was looking the scientist directly in the eye with the seriousness of a heart attack as he ate. "He was hired by the CDC to do research on the plague when it started going global."

Edwin's eyes darted around in the vast directions of the small laboratory's tile floor briefly before shifting up to meet Shane's determined and hopeful stare. "Yes," he alleged, almost hesitantly. There was an exaggerated pause before he continued, his social awkwardness bleeding with the intensity of a rapidly dripping faucet. "Not very well, but I was on the committee who hired him and sixteen other coroners from Georgia counties. He attended meetings held here every other day to report his research findings and compare them with our doctors and the other coroners." Dr. Jenner frowned at that point, redirecting his eyesight to the floor. "He uncovered a lot," he whispered, raising his blonde eyebrows in passive thought. "It's too bad that the world ended the way it has. I could really use his help and input right now."

Shane lowered his head and stared at his unfinished Snickers bar. He'd known better than to get his hopes up. Rick simply continued wolfing down his snack.

"What happened to him?" Shane dared to wonder.

"I'm not sure," Edwin sighed. "We lost contact."

"Lost contact?" Rick lifted an eyebrow, suddenly far more interested in this conversation.

The researcher nodded. "He was one of the last doctors to leave the CDC . . . about eight weeks ago. He had a specialised laptop on him that he used to communicate with us here and several pieces of equipment and tools with which to conduct his research. He maintained daily contact with us for about a month and a half after the last time I saw him here. So I haven't heard from him in a while, going on three weeks."

"Do you have any idea why contact ceased? Have you tried contacting him?" Shane demanded in a pitifully sad voice.

"I honestly have no idea." The doctor was clearly just as curious and bothered as the cops were. "I hate to say it but most likely the dead are responsible for it."

"But you don't _know_ that," Rick hissed.

"No, I don't. But you have to accept that it was most likely his fate."

"We won't accept that unless we know for sure."

Dr. Jenner sighed, but he had to agree with them. Ambiguity was one of the most prevailing forces in the zombie apocalypse. "I'm not saying he _is_ dead. I'm saying I don't know. A whole list of possibilities exists as to why we lost contact. His laptop could be broken. He may have lost it, had it stolen, or had to abandon it in a hasty escape. Not too long ago I lost contact with all of the other CDCs in the world. All of the CDCs out there maintain contact via a space satellite. I used the same satellite to communicate with his laptop; perhaps the satellite went down just like the internet and power grid did. If that's the case and he is alive, he's probably wondering the same about me. And if he is, I don't blame him for having not returned. Like I said, it's dangerous out there, and it's hard to get your hopes up about anyone or anything when flesh-eating zombies are everywhere."

"Where was he staying? Why didn't he just stay here?"

"Kindred Hospital, at first. It was the only hospital successfully evacuated in its entirety before the city was napalmed. But soon Atlanta became re-infested with the dead and he was forced to leave. I assume he didn't stay here because he wanted to observe the behaviour of the walkers in their natural environment and to seek out a location with a reliable power source. Field research _is_ very important to understanding the complexities of a disease, especially one as extreme as this. Lab research is what this building is limited to, and in this world it is a severe downfall. Dr. Chambers decided to risk the world to document zombie behaviour and run experiments on them, hoping it would help me unravel the mysteries of this disease. After the bombings, Dr. Chambers did far more for us than simply dissect cadavers . . ."

"Like what?" Rick wondered.

"You'd get sick if I told you in detail," Edwin chuckled. "I won't spoil your appetite. You need it."

"Where did he go when Kindred was overrun?" Shane blurted with upgraded urgency in the midst of chewing.

"I don't know where he ended up," Edwin admitted. "He managed to get out of the city with all of his equipment. That much I know. He settled in an abandoned house just outside of DeKalb County for two days, and then he was forced to move again. He was heading west I believe, possibly in an attempt to get back to King County where he lived. I'm not sure if he even had a destination in mind. When I last spoke with him, he was in Fayette County trying to find a working gas station."

"Fayette County is just south of Atlanta. It's like a forty-five minute drive from there to King County. Hell, it only takes us that long to get from the southeast corner of Atlanta to the King County line." Rick seemed confused as to why Dorian would be taking so long to reach familiarity. "Why wouldn't he just go straight there?"

"And was he alone?" Shane piped in.

"No, he wasn't alone. He had a group with him. He said some of them fell ill, which held them up. The virus takes you down fast and it's a painful death. They hunkered down where they could to give their infected as peaceful and comfortable of a passing as they could. Plus he was transporting a lot of delicate equipment that he took out of here, including an electron microscope which he carried around in an ambulance."

"Who was he with? Who was in Dorian's group? And how many were there?"

"I'm not sure how large it was or who those other people were. The last time I saw him in person, Dorian was here by himself asking for a whole list of very specific tools, surgical supplies, medications, chemicals, and research equipment. My wife, Candace, was the head of the CDC. She authorised him to take everything he needed and then rushed off with him back to Kindred Hospital with two of our remaining doctors. She didn't return until two days later and she . . . contracted the disease . . . just outside, right where you guys came in. She may have known more about Dr. Chambers' group, but she didn't say much about them before she died. The other two doctors didn't make it back alive."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Rick said softly.

Dr. Jenner lowered his head and nodded his thanks, letting his buried sadness emerge through his memories.

"He could be anywhere by now," Edwin eventually muttered. "Assuming he's alive, that is."

Shane hid his face in his palms and rubbed his calloused thumbs against his throbbing temples. He wanted to find Dorian, but of course he had no idea where to even look. And he knew damn well that most likely he'd be hunting the forensic pathologist's zombie if he even tried.

"If it makes you feel better, I'll attempt to contact him once again after dinner."

Shane pulled his hands down and nodded, letting his eyes silently beg the nerdy scientist to do whatever he could.

* * *

><p><em>SEASON 1 – EPISODE 6<em>

_(Shane is tanked and just assaulted Lori in the CDC. This scene takes place right after that.)_

"I need your advice on something."

Jacqui had just barely gotten her bedroom door open when Lori frantically pushed her way inside, obviously frightened.

"What's go'n on, girl?" the sleepy woman demanded, pushing the door shut behind her. "You should be in bed!"

"It's Shane. I don't know what to do about him. He's gone mad."

Jacqui rubbed her eyelids which were swollen from exhaustion and her slight buzz.

"Why? What happened?"

"He just came into the rec. room and started screaming at me! Saying he loves me 'n trying to convince me that I love him back. I don't! I love Rick. Then . . . then he just started trying to force himself on me. I had to grab him by the neck to get away!"

"You serious?"

"Yeah," Lori breathed. "Scratched him pretty deep too and I . . . I don't know what to do. I don't know why he's acting like this and I need your input. He's delusional!"

"Well maybe now that you fought him off, he'll back off. He's prolly just drunk. When he wakes up in the morn 'n sees them scratches on his neck, he'll remember 'n I bet he'll regret it."

"No, I don't think so." Lori shook her head frenetically, her eyes wide and convinced. "Shane's that type of man that doesn't know the meaning of the word 'no' and can't separate denial from hope or faith."

Out of all of the survivors, Jacqui was the only person Lori had chosen to confide in regarding her relationship with Shane. Jacqui, who was fifteen years her senior, had picked up on it right away, and at first had chosen to innocently pick on Lori about her secret intimacy with him. As far as Lori knew, Jacqui was the only one aware that it had been going on.

"And how do you know that?" Jacqui wanted to know.

"Because he's always been this way."

"How long you know this guy for?"

"Uhh, eight, almost nine years."

"Ohhhh!" Jacqui exclaimed, raising an eyebrow. "I guess I thought you didn't know him that well."

"Well, I didn't. He and Rick were . . . are . . . best friends. I was just never really good friends with Shane because of his wife . . . girlfriend . . . whatever she was. She hated me."

"Why?"

"I have no idea."

Jacqui's thin eyebrow lifted even further. Her mind seemed to be brewing theories about the love triangle the more Lori spoke, as was indicated by the curious unilateral smirk that began creeping up her lip.

"At least I _think_ she hated me. We never got along, but she was always really close to Rick. They met at the police academy and were best friends too. I've never done anything to her that I can recall, but she's always been rather snarky with me. Rick never let me hang out with them whenever she was there, and he hung out with her a lot. I guess it made me sort of jealous, in a way, even though I know they were only friends."

"She worked at the same po station with 'em, I take it?"

Lori nodded. "Yeah, she was a cop too. And she was just as crazy as Shane is . . . but in her own way."

"What chu mean?"

"Shane was overly romantically attached to her . . . like almost obsessed. I mean, I know he loved her . . . he is . . . was . . . _madly_ in love with her. He always referred to her as his 'soul mate' instead of his 'girlfriend' or 'lover' or 'sweetheart'. He _smothered_ her with love. It's almost something that I might consider a mental problem."

"And this woman . . . ?"

"She knew it." Lori's head was again moving in rapid, incomplete nods to emphasise her story. "She hated it. She was the complete opposite—cold, cynical, emotionless . . . rather robotic, actually. Shane's clinginess and smothering drove her off, but since they had kids together she really couldn't escape him. I think she really did love Shane, but I don't think she was capable of showing it or really knew how." Lori then exhaled a fleeting smile. "Rick got mad at me once because I referred to her as a psychopath."

"Was she?"

"Nah. Just emotionless. Her whole family was the same way—detached."

"You ain't exactly the most emotionally invested woman yourself, Miss Lori."

Lori huffed. "Rick reminds me of this allllll the time."

"Then perhaps that's what draws Shane to you."

"Oh no," Lori fiercely diverged. "Rick's told me many, many times that Kat's emotionless bothered Shane to no end. He tried _so_ hard to get her to love him, or at least to show it. He wanted her to open up and show her feelings about everything . . . just like _he_ always does."

"This is the woman that died, right? The one he talked about at the fires?"

Lori confirmed with another nod. "For the last six or seven years, she's the only woman he's had. They had three kids together."

"And he lost 'em too, I take it?"

"That is currently undetermined, but the general presumption is yes."

"Hmmm . . ." Jacqui hummed to herself, letting her forty-six years of wisdom put the pieces of Lori's puzzle together within her mind.

"I never intended for Shane to be any more than a rebound while I mourned Rick's death," Lori explained, choosing her words carefully as she spoke. "I just kind of, well, _used him_ I guess . . . to help me . . . get over Rick and just . . . move on. I guess I just assumed that he was doing the same to get over Kat. We've only recently become widows and already he's telling me that he _loves_ me. How can you love someone, especially when that someone is your best friend's _wife_ after just a few weeks? How can you love someone so quickly when the woman of your dreams—the person you loved with all your heart—just died?"

"He don't love you," Jacqui said blatantly and quite simply. "He only thinks he does. Cuz his subconscious don't recognise her death, don't want to believe it, and misses her as if she is simply not here."

Lori looked into Jacqui's eyes, sadly pleading for clarification.

"He wants his woman back. He misses her."

"But . . . she's dead. He needs to accept that. She isn't—"

"She's very much alive in his mind—in his subconscious. All of those emotions are keeping her alive, preventing him from accepting it. She's a ghost, but his mind is so clouded with denial, hope, love, obsession . . . whatever else is going on in there, that it's preventing him from seeing through that ghost clearly."

Lori's mouth was hanging open and her eyebrows were knotted while her brain worked out what Jacqui was metaphorically revealing to her.

"Yet Shane is very much aware of the fact that this woman is not here with him, as he needs her to be. On the outside of his mind, he knows she's gone. But a person's conscious and subconscious are tied in such a way that they muddle our realities at times, confuse us, blind us."

"Like dreams," Lori whispered as a fleeting thought.

"Like dreams."

Jacqui gave Lori a few moments while she thought of the gentlest way to word what she needed to say next.

"Shane's conscious mind knows his woman is dead, but refuses to accept it 'n get over it. Hence it's like he's got a roadblock between knowledge and acceptance, and that roadblock is denial. That denial is the string that connects his conscious to his subconscious. Like I said, she's dead in his conscious, but she's alive in his subconscious."

Lori's gaze locked with Jacqui's and the older woman saw understanding beginning to creep into her friend's analytical brain.

"And what does this have to do with me?" the pale mother asked.

"There's a ghost living in half of Shane's mind," Jacqui went on, her voice ever soft and calm. "A ghost that the other half seeks to resurrect from the dead. And without even realising it, Shane is trying to resurrect the woman he loves in the only way he can."

Lori cocked her head, giving Jacqui an almost sideways glance while the gears of her own mind sewed together the blanket of realisation.

"Shane obviously cannot reunite the real ghost with the real zombie to resurrect the real woman. So he's doing the next best thing—like I said, without even knowing it. He's taking the figurative mental ghost and projecting her very essence into what's available and most similar to the real ghost's real body."

Brown eyes widened and sent a wave of absolute horror across Lori's bony face. Jacqui knew that now it had all sunken in and full comprehension had been achieved.

"When he looks at you, when he kisses you, when he does whatever else you guys've been do'n . . . he don't see you. He sees _her_."

"Literally?"

Jacqui shrugged. "Perhaps."

Lori swallowed hard, almost as if she were trying to prevent an inevitable regurgitation of all the recent nutrients her body so desperately needed.

"Tell me Miss Lori," Jacqui lured with unhindered yet subtle amusement. "What did this woman look like? And aside from her emotional detachment, what kinda personality did she have?"

Lori took an uncomfortably long time to get her mouth moving in response to Jacqui's inquiry. It was a question that she had no desire to answer, just wanted to run from and forget about, but she had to. She had to admit it, and she had to physically hear it.

"She was tall, about my height . . . five foot nine or so. She had . . . dark brown, almost black hair. But it was straight though! Not wavy like mine . . ."

Jacqui simpered, her amusement growing as Lori's voice sped up in emphasis whenever she contrasted her differences with Katharine Burke.

". . . I think she had hazel eyes, but I never really paid attention. She was well built . . . unlike me. I never really got into the whole working out thing . . ."

That much was obvious. Jacqui concluded that Lori had never really gotten into the whole eating thing either.

". . . and she looked mean, at least I thought so. Always had this pissed off, judgmental look on her face like everyone she met was beneath her. Then again she was a cop so I guess I can't really hold—"

"I seen that same look on your face every damn day at camp," Jacqui muttered derogatorily. "You're always angry, Lori. Always judging everybody but ya'self."

She looked up to see Lori's lower lip quivering. It took only a few seconds before Rick's wife broke down entirely. Jacqui stepped forward and hugged her friend, letting her cry on her shoulder.

"It worked . . ." Lori whimpered after a while.

"Hmm?" Jacqui pulled away from her sisterly embrace. It was now her turn to visually seek out an explanation.

"Whenever Rick and I would have our little disagreements, it was always more of a calm, sharp conversation than a heated argument and we'd just be short with each other for a few days." She paused to suck air in through her clogged nose and wipe the smeared tears and snot off of her face. "From what Rick told me, Shane and Kat would have fights that borderlined on the domestic dispute level. And every time they happened, Kat would tell Shane to get out of her life for good and they wouldn't talk, even at work, for weeks. She kept him from seeing his own kids too, every time."

"You told Shane to get out of your life," Jacqui remembered. "I seen you, the other day at the reservoir. You told him to get out of your life for good and forbade him from talking to your son. You responded to him the same way Kat would have."

Lori cried again. "What do I do? I don't want to become that psycho _bitch_!"

"Be ya'self," Jacqui said simply with a smile. "Be conscious of everything you say and do 'round him. Don't let yourself become her no matter what he does to try and project her ghost into you and make her materialise through you. By regaining and maintaining your strength and your sense of self, you exorcise yourself of this . . . _zombie_."

"You're right," Lori agreed.

"And most importantly, tell him what he's doing. The first opportunity you get, _make_ him understand and accept that fact that his precious Kat is _dead_."

* * *

><p><em>SEASON 1 – EPISODE 6<em>

_(The CDC is going to explode in 4 minutes. Dr. Jenner opens a door so the group can try to find a way out of the building.)_

_"It's eerie, when someone is about to die. When they know it's coming and they've accepted their own death, you can just feel it through the way they talk and stuff. I guess what they say about suicide is true; when someone's really serious about it and ready to check out, there's no stopping that person."_

Katharine Burke's words echoed from somewhere within Rick's adrenaline fuelled mind. He'd been comatose when she'd said them in reference to Lynn Sommers' suicide. As he looked into Dr. Jenner's long-suffering eyes, Rick knew it to be true.

"There's your chance, take it," Dr. Jenner commanded, his voice as calm and soft spoken as it always was.

"Grateful," Rick quietly spat, gloomily begging the scientist to follow while simultaneously hating him for simply allowing the world's final hope to destroy itself.

"The day will come when you won't be."

Rick couldn't help but see the smiling doctor's eerie words as a potential prophesy.

Before he had time for formulate a response, Edwin Jenner stepped forward and shoved a very thin laptop against his chest along with a manila folder that was overflowing with papers. Rick caught it; the microbiologist then took Rick's free hand, gave it a firm farewell shake, and whispered in his ear something that he felt only Rick Grimes should hear.

* * *

><p>Boing!<p>

Sooooo WHAT DO YOU GUYS THINK DR. JENNER SAID TO RICK?!

I'll give you a hint . . . he didn't tell him that the virus resurrects everyone. Cuz in my story, people only become zombies if they contract the virus from another zombie.

To those of you who are subscribed to this story but haven't been reviewing, I _strongly_ encourage you to review. It would really mean a lot to me, even if it's just a one-liner. I'm composing this story in the hopes of getting advanced critique on my skills as a writer because I'd very much like to become a published author of my own original stories someday. And in order to do that, I _need_ to hear from people who are unbiased strangers. _Please_, do not be shy about any criticisms you may have or just simply comments or compliments! I will not be offended by even harsh critique; I welcome it because I'm always seeking to improve! I'd very much love to hear everyone's opinions, whether they are good or bad. I spend long hours on my novels and I'd greatly appreciate the feedback. I don't ask for much. I've PM'd _many_ of you who haven't reviewed, asking you to, and the majority of you have _ignored me_. Why would you ignore the person who's writing this story _for_ _you_ to read? I do not appreciate that because that's called rude and if that's how it's going to be, I will take this story elsewhere to a private TWD forum or else I'll give my 'block' button a little exercise, seriously. I do not want to have to do that so please review. It's all I ask.

The song that Shane listens to in his Jeep is called "Mockingbird" and it's from Eminem's _Encore_ album. I hope you guys don't mind me using his music in my story. I know a lot of people hate rap but I do plan on using a song or two of his later on. :/

Oh yeah, and what do you guys think is in that purple envelope that Shane found in the last chapter? :3

**NOW REVIEW, MY LOVELIES! :D**

Do you have any suggestions, ideas, comments, or critiques? Pairings you'd like to see? Characters you would like to see zombified or just flat out eaten alive? Suggest away in your review!

_**My Zombie Valentine**_ copyright © **28 March 2012** by _**Darkinyron**_

_**The Walking Dead **_copyright © _**Robert Kirkman**_


	9. Bromine

**MY ZOMBIE VALENTINE  
><strong>**By: Darkinyron**

Well this chapter pissed me off . . . I seriously rewrote the second scene FOUR times. The final "draft" was a complete rewrite because my main laptop's backlight went out (and is still out; I can't afford to fix it) and I didn't have enough time to get that ONE file with that damn scene onto the external hard drive before it happened. Luckily, I got all of the other important files for this story onto it, so I won't be forced to rewrite anymore, I hope. And thankfully, my grandma bought me this beautiful new laptop for my birthday back in June so I'm not completely out of commission!

Sorry yet again about the update wait. -_-; Aside from how frustrated I got with this chapter, I'm also having severe financial issues right now and I've had an abnormally sickly winter, both of which are taking their toll on my mind and body. I promise I have not forgotten about my story! My stress levels are just through the roof right now because life's a demented bitch who's been amusing herself by running me into the ground or at least giving me one hell of an allegorical beating. -.-;

Two or three more chapters after this and we will be returning to the original story! :) Once I can drag my tired ass through them, updates will come more frequently because a lot of the post-Season 2 stuff is already written and what's not is stuff I am actually excited to write. XD

* * *

><p><strong>~ CHAPTER NINE ~<strong>

**BROMINE**

_DAY BETWEEN SEASON 1 & SEASON 2_

_(The group finds a parked semi attached to an unleaded fuel tanker at a Sunoco gas station and uses it to fill their vehicles with gasoline for the trip to Fort Benning. They decide to camp out inside of the Sunoco for the night and hit the road in the AM.)_

_AN ELECTROFYING CRACK of thunder that was loud enough to wake the dead startled Shane from an abysmal slumber._

"_Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chooo chooo!"_

_Train noises didn't make sense in Shane's mind. He opened his drowsy eyes and felt his neck protest against the annoying stiffness it had obtained from its poor angle during the night._

_Something soft brushed against his five o'clock shadow as he straightened his achy neck. Looking down, Shane saw Katharine Burke's head resting heavily against the front of his shoulder and identified her hair as the softness he'd felt. A smile spread across his tired face before he even realised it. Finally, after all these months, the woman he'd quickly fallen for was using him as a human pillow._

_"Chug, chug, chug, chug, choo, choo!"_

_More train noises led Shane to glance around and process his surroundings. They were sitting on one of the sofas in Kat's house, a place he'd never been before. He glanced down at her sleeping form and noticed that she was still in her police uniform—something he'd soon learn was a habit of hers when she got off of work and was too tired to shower or even change. Her duty belt and boots were in the middle of the living room floor amidst an array of scattered toys that had not been there the previous night._

_"Chooo choooooooo!"_

_Shane almost flinched when he felt something lightly bang into his left foot, reminding him that he'd fallen asleep in a sitting position. The object continued to gently ram into his ankle before motoring its way over his toes and against his other foot. Whatever it was felt like it had wheels._

_Careful to not wake Kat up, Shane leaned forward a bit and saw a small Aryan girl looking up at him._

_"Hi!" the messy-haired girl quietly exclaimed._

_"Hey there," Shane murmured, his voice raspy from being woken up. He glanced around and found a pillow beside the sofa, picked it up, and gently eased it under Kat's sleeping head. Once he was satisfied that she would not wake up, he slid out from beneath her and lowered her cushioned head into the crook of the couch's armrest and the area he'd been sitting._

_"Mr. Policeman, is Mumma okay?" the little girl asked worriedly._

_Shane glimpsed at Kat and saw her swollen eyelids. She looked as if she had suffered another form of allergic reaction, but in reality her eyelids were puffy from finally failing in her attempts to withhold her impending and much needed emotional release following Steven Burke's fatal motorcycle accident._

_Glancing back at whom he presumed must have been the daughter of Kat and Steven, Shane smiled weakly and assured her. "Yeah . . . Yeah she's fine."_

_"Is she sick?" the child wondered, her face stricken with obvious concern. It occurred to him then that she'd probably never seen her emotionless mother cry, so to see her wrecked face in a state more appropriate for someone much younger was understandably troublesome._

_"No, no." Shane whispered, shaking his head. "What's your name, sweetie?"_

_"Erin. What's yours?"_

_"My name's Shane."_

_Erin Burke leaned back on her knees and pulled the object she was playing with away from Shane's feet. He looked down and saw that a plastic model of Thomas the Tank Engine was the culprit and that an oversized, half-naked Barbie doll that was sitting on top of Thomas' freight car of coal was his accomplice._

_"How old are you, Erin?"_

_"I'm three. Mumma says I'm gunna be four next week!"_

_Another crack of thunder rattled Shane's bones, causing him to jump in his spot. He eased off of the couch and onto the floor, leaned his back up against it and Kat's knees, and smiled down at Erin._

_"How long you been in here play'n with Thomas 'n Barbie?"_

_"I dunno; a little bit. The storm woke me up. It's too loud to sleep."_

_"Do storms scare you?"_

_"Nope, I like 'em. The rain is pretty. It's raining!"_

_Raindrops were slamming into the roof and siding, their sound tempting Shane's brain with another nap. He was exhausted, but a nap would have to wait despite how badly he yearned to curl back up on the couch with his crush and be her big spoon. "I hear it," he yawned._

_Erin giggled as he spoke while yawning. "Sleepy?" She maintained her voice's whispering tone so not to disturb her mother._

_"Yeah!" Shane replied, keeping his own voice the same. He looked at his watch and saw that it was just after 8:00 AM._

_"Why are you here?" Erin finally wondered, cocking her head curiously at the newcomer._

_"I umm, I brought your mom home from work last night."_

_"Oh." Erin shrugged without much thought. Shane smiled at how young and innocent the three year old was; she wasn't mature enough to deeply question why a strange man would be in her house, passed out on a couch with her mother in his arms._

_"Man I'm thirsty," Shane whined, that quirky smile ever present on his face. "Think your mom would mind if I snagged something to drink?"_

_"Nope!" Erin then stood up and grabbed Shane's hand, urging him to get on his feet as well. "C'mon, Shane! I'll show you the fridge, where the apple juice is!" _

_When he'd forced his stiff joints to make him stand, he stretched and silently promised himself to never again fall asleep while wearing a bulletproof vest._

"_You're tall!" the three year old giggled. "You can reach the cupboard 'n get a cup!"_

_Children were funny when they spoke. Shane chuckled and let the girl take his hand again and lead him into the kitchen._

_"Mumma always gives me apple juice in the morning," Erin was saying when they arrived in Katharine's average-sized kitchen. "She says it's good for you. You should drink some."_

_"All right," Shane agreed as he watched Erin Burke use all of her tiny weight to pull the refrigerator door open. When it finally separated from its suction of a latch, she reached in and removed a carton of Welch's apple juice then brought it over to him._

_"Close the door, sweetie," Shane reminded her, taking the plastic carton._

_"Oh, yeah, I forgot!" Erin said in the midst of running back to the fridge._

_Shane couldn't help but feel a sense of happiness. The wide smile and the gentle expression he knew was on his face was something he hoped would never leave, even though it was something he classified as alien and almost too good to be true._

_In the past few months Shane had been feeling the urge to grow up and settle down. Seeing his best friend get married and welcome a baby into the world only a few years ago had changed him. The party life of the resistant, almost delinquent rebel he'd been starting at the age of fifteen was gradually growing old. He was a cop now, and he surprised himself in that moment when he thought that he was actually becoming pretty damn good at his job. One night stands and meaningless, short-term relationships were becoming less and less appealing as his career and mature group of friends and co-workers replaced the bad crowd he had once associated with._

__Yet Shane refused to let his inner kid completely die. Growing up wasn't allowed to completely suck, if he had any say.__

_As he found a glass and poured himself some apple juice, Shane wondered what he would have thought five years ago if someone had told him that he'd actually fall in love with somebody and settle his wild ass down. He imagined his teenage form would have laughed at the idea. But now he was gazing back in time and mentally laughing at what he was at the age of seventeen. My, how things reluctantly changed . . ._

_Erin Burked reached up and placed an empty sippy-cup on the counter. He removed the lid and filled it for her._

"_I don't remember the last time I drank apple juice in the morn'n," Shane commented almost to himself._

"_What do you drink when you wake up?" Erin wondered._

_Shane didn't want to admit that just a few years ago it had been beer or that in the more recent times it was typically a Mountain Dew or a Coca-Cola. "Coffee," he muttered. It wasn't a full-blown lie; whenever he'd get stuck on first shift, coffee was a cop's best friend._

"_So does Mumma," Erin grumbled. "Or Pepsi Throwback."_

_Apparently he wasn't the only one._

"_You stick with your juice, little one," Shane advised, handing the sippy-cup back and rustling her messy blonde hair. "Caffeine ain't good for someone your age."_

"_I will!" she promised before taking big gulps of her apple juice._

_A sly smirk ran across Shane's face and he bit his lower lip to hide it. He noticed Kat's coffee pot and plugged it in, filled it with water and what he hoped would be enough grains of her typical morning drug, and turned it on._

"_Think your mom will like that?" he asked, pointing toward the brewer and it startled to gurgle and heat up._

_Erin nodded with childish approval. "Yep!"_

"_Good."_

_Erin suddenly darted back towards the living room. Shane picked up his glass and followed her, hearing her tiny footsteps running up the stairs to the second floor. He paused in the hallway and stood there stupidly._

_Kat was still asleep on the couch. He assumed the rain was responsible for keeping her in such a blissful state. He felt his smile return as he gazed at her, hoping he'd get more opportunities to become her human pillow in the future._

_While waiting for Erin to return, Shane glanced at some family photographs that were mounted on the wall in wooden frames. He felt a cold shiver run down his spine as he gazed upon an image of Steven Burke holding his daughter in his arms while Kat stood behind him, her arms crossed and her face empty. It was a recent image, one probably taken in the last couple of months given Erin's age. Just last night he'd been unable to recognise the man's body on his own. Now, seeing a photo of the man when he was alive was rather creepy. _

_Erin Burke was a spitting image of her father. They were both blonde, shared the same nose, the same hairline, the same thin lips, and the same blue eyes. Their expressions were soft and they both had wavy hair. Katharine's physical features—such as her brown-black straight hair, hazel eyes, thin nose and eyebrows, and her full lips—were all absent in her daughter's image._

_The sound of Erin making her way back down the stairs summoned Shane from his trance. She stomped a little obnoxiously and reappeared around the banister, a large teddy bear in one hand, a brush and another member of Thomas the Tank Engine's family in the other._

_As she came down from the last step, Thomas' red pal fell from Erin's grip and clattered against the linoleum floor._

"_Oops!" Erin gasped, setting the other objects on the ground._

"_It's all right," Shane whispered. "Need help with that?"_

"_I'm okay."_

_Shane noticed Kat shifting in her sleep in response to the noise. She brought her hands to her face as she started to wake up, most likely in response to the undoubted headache that had formed between her pathetic emotional breakdown and the effort she had put into preventing it and ending it after it had escaped._

"_Can you help me find Daddy?" Erin whined, ignoring her mother. "I dunno where he is. He's gotta brush my hair when I get up, but he's not in his room."_

_Happy innocence fled as Shane remembered his real purpose for being in Katharine's house. His smile disappeared and he could only hope that sometime soon it would return. It sucked that he couldn't be here simply because he belonged here, and he had to admit that the idea of that was farfetched in reality._

_Erin immediately noticed the change in Shane's demeanour. She picked her stuffed animal back up and held it tightly. The thumb of her empty hand went into her mouth and she ambled over to him with the teddy bear._

_Shane knelt down to be eye level with the little girl. He knew it was time to tell her and he didn't want Kat to have to do it. She'd told him she didn't want to, that she didn't know how. He didn't want her to get stuck with the gruelling task. She was uncomfortable with it and given the topic's delicacy and seriousness, she was likely to mess it up due to lack of confidence. All last night she'd gone over it with him a million times, how she would tell Erin that her father had gotten himself killed via his own stupidity. None of the ramblings she'd offered—more to herself than to him it seemed—felt like the best way to go about it. In fact, the more ideas she'd come up with, the more distressed she'd become._

_Shane didn't see the point in rehearsing a dialogue or even planning one. He'd had to give people bad news before. Through experience and just based on his recent interactions with her, he believed himself to be better at it than Kat._

_He took a deep breath and sighed, looking at Erin as gently as he could._

"_Your daddy isn't here," he whispered. "I will brush your hair for you if you'd like."_

"_Okay!" Erin agreed. She fetched her brush from the floor and handed it to him. "Where did he go?"_

_As he accepted Erin's silver hairbrush, Shane noticed Katharine Burke watching him from the couch. She'd picked her head up and was supporting herself on her elbow, waiting to see what Shane would say. Shane then looked back at the wall of photographs and spotted a wooden crucifix among them. Rick Grimes had mentioned the importance of religion in Kat's family so he decided to incorporate it into the conversation he needed to have with Erin._

"_He went to Heaven, sweetheart."_

_Erin cocked her head and studied her new friend curiously. Shane could see the gears of her mind turning, processing at their own pace which was then unknown to him. Her face seemed neutral for several moments until her eyes shifted to the floor. Erin's mouth fell open, then she quickly looked back up into Shane's eyes._

"_He went to see Jesus?" she wondered, almost casually._

"_Yes, sweetie."_

"_When will he be back?" The question would have been ridiculous to any adult or older child capable of understanding death in its entirety. But this girl had never experienced a loss before. Most likely, she had no defining knowledge of the word 'death'._

"_He's not coming back," Shane said, keeping his voice gentle and soft. "He went to live in Heaven."_

"_Why?"_

"_Well . . . because he died."_

"_He . . . he died?" Erin's face melted into what Shane interpreted as a mixture of fear and sadness. Apparently Erin had heard of death before._

_Shane felt his heart break for the little girl. She was so young, so innocent, so undeserving of this bad news._

_He nodded slowly. "Yes, sweetie."_

_Erin hesitated. "Why?"_

_"It was his time to go to Heaven, I guess. We all have our time when we pass on and we will all die, someday. We never know when though. Do you understand?"_

_"Kinda."_

_"Then you know that one day, you will see him again."_

_"Can we bring him back home?"_

_"No little one, we can't. I'm sorry."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because death is permanent. It's . . . a forever thing. His body doesn't work anymore. If we brought him back, he wouldn't be the same. Therefore, it's not possible. It's just the way things are."_

_"Daddy broke?"_

_"His body did."_

_"We can't fix it for him?"_

"_No, I'm afraid we can't. When we die, our bodies stay dead. They can't come back to life. Our souls remain, but since souls don't have bodies anymore after death, we can't see them. But he's still with you, in Heaven, watching over you. Everything works there, and he's happy there, I bet."_

_"But I'll miss him!"_

_"I know, sweetheart. I understand. But you'll see him again, someday."_

_"Are you sure, Shane?"_

_"I'm sure."_

_"Promise?"_

_"I promise."_

_Shane hadn't noticed Kat rise from the couch. When she came and knelt behind her daughter, he looked into her eyes for some form of feedback._

_Kat smiled softly at Shane—a genuine smile. Her eyes were still wet but they told a tale of relief now that Erin had been informed and that she had taken it so well. Her smile widened just a bit and she nodded her head to him._

_"Thank you," she whispered._

_Erin looked over her shoulder and up at her mother. "Mumma, Daddy died!" she whined._

_"I know, baby. I know." Kat kissed her daughter softly on the forehead. "It will be hard for you."_

_"He went to live with Jesus!"_

_"Yes he did," Kat agreed, letting a single tear escape her bloodshot eyes._

_"Don't cry, Mumma," Erin chirped, letting her innocence talk for her. "Jesus is nice. He'll like living with Jesus. Right, Shane?"_

_Kat and Shane couldn't help but chuckle in response to her cute words. Kat wiped her eyes and somehow managed to keep her lips turned upwards._

_"Of course," he chuckled. "Now turn around so I can brush your hair."_

_"Okay!" Erin exclaimed, scooting into the opposite direction. _

_Kat took a seat up on the edge of her wooden coffee table and watched as Shane started to gracelessly comb through Erin's thin, knotted locks. The little girl was beaming happily, almost as if nothing had changed in her life. Young children were like that—often oblivious to the seriousness of death and inexperienced in grief-inspired emotions._

_Once Shane had worked out all of the night's knots and awkward curls, Erin stood and turned to face him._

_"Thank you, Shane!" she cheered, taking the brush from him and setting it on an end table. "Will you come brush my hair tomorrow?" she wondered._

_"Maybe . . . if I can."_

_Erin watched Shane's gaze shift to meet Kat's again. Kat was studying him, her mouth hanging open slightly and her head cocked as if she was trying to figure him out. He let her hazel eyes capture him, draw him in, and validate to him all the more that she was the one he wanted to marry someday. He knew his eyes were glazed with that unfamiliar feeling that people called 'puppy love' and he silently wondered if she recognised it._

_He couldn't tell what she was thinking; he was too lost in her eyes and his own hopes. It wasn't long before she smirked rapidly and narrowed her eyes at him. He snapped out of it and refocused._

_"Is that coffee I smell?" Kat inquired with a one-sided grin._

_"Thought I'd make ya some," Shane admitted with a shrug. "Erin here told me it's your morn'n drink."_

_"It is."_

_Katharine stood and walked toward the kitchen. She looked over her shoulder at him as she walked away, her unilateral smirk still present. As she disappeared behind one of the kitchen walls, Shane felt a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest and knew he'd earned some points with her._

Shane was startled out of his peaceful slumber by an urgent tap on his shoulder.

"Wake up, man."

Instinctively, Shane shifted his head up and saw T-Dog standing beside him. He scowled and sighed at the realisation that he'd actually been asleep, reliving his memory in the form of a dream. A brief flicker of rage spread through him when he remembered that he was a survivor during a zombie apocalypse and that both Kat and Erin were dead. Faerie tale memories of genuine, loving romance had no place here.

"Sorry, fell asleep," Shane yawned.

"Go inside . . . lay down 'n get some sleep. I'll take watch for a bit."

* * *

><p><em>Meanwhile . . .<em>

After helping syphon gasoline out of the fuel tanker, Rick Grimes washed up in the Sunoco's exterior bathroom then went inside to find some gum. He grabbed a few packs of Trident for himself and took them into the gas station's office where he had left his suitcase. Waiting for him on the desk was an old iPod he'd found in a car outside, which had some good tunes on it and still held a considerable amount of battery life.

Rick was tired. He knew he should have crawled into his sleeping bag hours ago but something was bugging him.

Closing the office door, Rick remembered a pair of headphones he'd shoved into the suitcase years ago prior to an airplane flight. He clicked on his flashlight and set it up on the desk for some illumination, then rummaged through the suitcase, wondering if they were even still in the pocket he'd left them in. After pulling out several Ziplock bags full of soap, deodorant, toothpaste, and other toiletries, Rick felt his fingers grasp what he was looking for. He grabbed the iPod and connected it to the headphones, found a song he liked, and smiled at the simple peace the music brought him.

Deeper in the suitcase, Rick found the laptop and the manila folder that Dr. Jenner had given him. His curiosity over their contents could wait no longer.

Rick set up the laptop on the office's wooden desk and turned it on. He figured it had to be a potential communication link and wondered if he could attempt to contact Dorian Chambers. If not, it must at least have some interesting documents about the plague or video footage for him to watch.

Immediately after booting, the computer demanded the entry of a password to access its contents. Rick frowned and opened the manila folder to get guessing ideas.

On top of the overflowing stack of papers inside of the folder, Rick found a hastily scribbled, handwritten message from Dr. Jenner spanning the length of four very large sticky notes. He pulled them apart and read them beneath the light of his flashlight.

**_Officer Grimes,_**

**_I had a feeling you wouldn't accept the painless gift I offered you and your group, so I printed off all of my daily research notes and decided to give them to you, along with my laptop. This is my personal laptop. I trust that you will respect it as such. I decided that you were the best candidate to receive it given your stable personality, your leadership skills, and your determination to keep your group alive. The password is wildfire65_20._**

**_Understand that I could not go on like this. My wife's brain matter samples were destroyed by my own carelessness the day before you arrived. Without TS-19, there is nothing left for me to experiment on or study._**

**_The laptop contains several thousand more pages worth of both my own research and that which was conducted by others here at the CDC and around the world. Read through them if you'd like but I do not guarantee that you will understand them. You will also find video recordings of my communication sessions with Dr. Dorian Chambers and a copy of the Enhanced Internal View of TS-19 that you were just shown. If you ever find Dr. Chambers, please pass this folder and this laptop on to him. Assuming he is alive and still researching, they will be of great help to him. Fill him in on what happened here and remind him that he is probably humanity's last hope to develop a specific anti-viral medication, or at least a vaccine, for Walker Fever. And let him know that I am not angry with him, nor do I blame him, for my wife's death. She was bitten by a walker and died by nature's hand after risking her own life to do what she knew was right. He has no reason to be experiencing the guilt he felt._**

**_I wish you and your group the best. Life is so fragile, yet your group has proven how enduring it can be. Good luck and I hope you find yourselves a reliable safe haven. I am sorry that the CDC could not be it._**

**_Sincerely,_**

**_Dr. Edwin Jenner_**

Rick read the note over a few times before clicking off the flashlight and entering the password. He immediately dimmed the screen to prevent his group members from seeing its light beneath the office door and to conserve battery life. It also became obvious that he would not be connecting to the internet or whatever space satellite Dr. Jenner had spoken of either.

Dr. Jenner wasn't kidding with his warning that he may not understand the written documents. The medical terminology, graphs, diagrams, procedures, and even some of the photos were well beyond his level of education. He quickly became frustrated and gave up.

Rick's eyes began to hurt in response to the screen's artificial light and his own exhaustion, but he shut down the iPod, plugged his headphones into the computer, and forced himself to open a few video recordings. They were all neatly organised into their own digital file folders, many containing even more folders within themselves. The ones he went through first were nothing more than Dr. Jenner's ramblings in what he assumed was a daily blog the microbiologist had kept out of boredom during his period of solitude. Others were recordings of autopsies the coroners had performed on walkers.

Footage within one folder in particular both greatly disturbed Rick and fascinated him in such a way that he could not pull his eyes away or bring himself to stop watching. A Microsoft Office Word document in the folder identified the videos as the daily scientific documentations of an anonymous brain surgeon out of Michigan. The first video in the series documented the final moments of Claire, the man's mistress, who had suffered numerous human bite wounds on various parts of her body. An EEG was hooked up to her, recording her brain function.

Claire hadn't been fortunate enough to rapidly bleed to death out of a severed carotid artery in under a minute, like Amy had. Nor had she experienced alternating periods of calm lucidity and psychosis as Jim had. As she lay dying on what appeared to be an autopsy table, Claire thrashed and howled in agonising, bloodcurdling screams as if she was being tortured by the world's sickest homicidal maniac. But her only obstacle was the zombie fever and a makeshift leather belt that kept her restrained to the table around her waist. Rick clenched his eyes shut and turned away, unable to watch the woman's death because it was simply too upsetting. But his headphones kept the echo of her screams alive in his ears until they too evaporated into peaceful waves of deathly silence.

Certain that the videotape had recorded the woman's demise, Rick opened his eyes only to see that the MP4 had ended. He took a deep breath and opened the next in the sequence, which began with the surgeon's actual documentation of her time of death. He then noticed that the video was supposedly over five and a half hours long, so he fast-forwarded through it. It was nothing but a camera watching her dead body.

The next bit of footage began a few minutes before the woman's chest began to rise and fall. The doctor had been at her side the entire time, staring at her, unmoving, waiting. Rick shuddered when he noticed that the EEG was beginning to detect brain waves again, but the woman's revivified life mirrored that of TS-19 from the CDC. When the zombified Claire took her first breath as a walker, her cheating partner stood from his chair and backed away, trembling violently. He looked unable to decide what to do, but when the fresh revenant growled and attempted to lunge at him from beneath the leather restraint, his instincts sent him into fight for flight mode. A trembling hand latched onto a handsaw which he nervously positioned over the raging woman's neck. Swatting her hands away repeatedly, the surgeon whimpered and began sawing her throat like a piece of wood.

Rick's hands fell over his eyes to hide the vivid decapitation. His body tensed in response to hearing the mix of pitiful human cries and zombie screams which soon slurred into curdled, hallow gags, and eventually an almost appropriate, squishy carving sound as her reanimated cervical spine was severed from her body.

Scary movies weren't Rick's personal favourite as far as genres went. But he felt like he'd literally just watched something out of a horror flick and suddenly, none of the frightful works of fiction he'd sat through seemed so bad anymore. When Rick finally found the courage to pull his hands away from his face again, he saw the surgeon leaning over the now motionless body, quivering hysterically in response to the repulsive act he'd just committed, the serrated saw still dangling in his hand. When he glanced at the decapitated head, he jumped. The zombie's wide eyes were glaring at the camera and her lips were curled back in a quivering snarl.

Rick suddenly felt dizzy and sick to his stomach. He closed out the window and turned the laptop off, pulled out his headphones, and packed everything away. Still shaken from the insanity he'd just witnessed, Rick promised himself he'd find Dorian's videos another day. He came out of the office and decided to seek out some Pepto Bismol in the hopes that it would sooth his nagging nausea.

All he found was his friend, Shane Walsh, sitting against the counter where he'd found the gum.

"Can't sleep either, huh?" Shane asked with a yawn.

Rick shook his head. "Bad dreams," he lied.

"Walkers?"

"Yeah." It wasn't _too_ far from the truth, and Rick figured he'd probably be having nightmares anyways after witnessing the CDC explode and after the video he'd just watched.

"Me too," Shane sighed.

"I don't feel good," Rick admitted. "You seen any Pepto around here?"

Shane shook his head. "There's some ginger ale in the fridges, I think. Prolly warm, though."

"That'll do."

Rick located a bottle of Canada Dry and savoured its fizzy taste. It wasn't as cold as he would have liked, but it would do the job. He grabbed one for Shane and returned to the counter, sat beside him, and handed him the green drink.

"She's haunting me," Shane muttered.

"Huh?"

"Kat. She's haunting me."

"What do you mean she's 'haunting' you?"

"I keep see'n her . . . see'n her as one of them. I let her die, Rick. It's all my fault."

Rick's face screwed up and he shifted so he could look right into his best friend's eyes. "What do you mean you 'let her die'? It wasn't your fault!"

"I shouldn't have let her go after him," Shane explained, referring to Kat's father. "I knew it was a dumb idea, yet she convinced me to let her go. We should have gotten you out first, and then went in after her father, together. Then you would have been taken to Kindred and everything would have worked out just fine."

"But I'm not pissed at you for what happened. I can't blame you for any of this. If you were in the wrong, I wouldn't even be have'n this conversation with you right now."

Shane gave his friend a sick, confused, and guilty look. "That doesn't make it okay."

"Well, I still forgive you. Not that I was ever pissed at you to begin with . . ."

Shane's gaze shifted to the floor and he swallowed hard, looking like he too was ready to throw up.

"You did your best, Brother."

"But my best wasn't good enough. And that's why she's haunting me. And I ain't just see'n her in my nightmares. I'm see'n her in these fucked up hallucinations too." As if on cue, he rubbed his eyes and shook his head in an attempt to make one go away.

"A little PTSD is normal in circumstances like this, I would think," Rick offered as comfort.

"They scare me. I want her back. I . . . I dunno . . ." Shane was rambling.

"What if I told you Kat was still alive?" Rick wondered, trying to keep the thought casual.

Shane glared at him. "C'mon man, don't you start with those pointless mind games. I found her bloody badge. She's dead . . ." Now choked up, Shane blinked hard and swallowed repeatedly as he felt yet another bout of depression rise in his throat. "The walkers got her. She's not alive . . . not like that."

"You don't _know_ that," Rick snarled. He paused and waited for Shane to say something. When he didn't, Rick kept talking. "Just because everyone else is dying of this plague, doesn't mean she did. It doesn't mean she's dead right now. You told me Kat promised you she wouldn't die."

"I'm sure she had every intention of keeping that promise," Shane muttered.

"Then tell me if this means anything to you," Rick barked. Shane leered at him again. "Get busy _living_, or get busy _dying_."

The other deputy's face paled as if he'd just seen a ghost and his mouth fell open.

"What did you say?" Shane's eyes narrowed; how could Rick have any knowledge of Lynn Sommers' final words?

"You heard me," Rick snapped childishly. "I believe you will see her again someday. Have some faith."

Shane stared stupidly at Rick, who got up with his ginger ale and marched out of the Sunoco. He was left to wonder just what Rick was hiding . . .

* * *

><p><em>SEASON 2 – EPISODE 1<em>

_(The group is en route to Fort Benning in Cusseta, Georgia and gets stuck in a traffic jam of abandoned vehicles on the I-85. Sophia's lost after running from some walkers on the thruway. Daryl is leading the group around in search of her when they come across a church. Lori confronts Shane outside while Carol goes inside to pray.)_

Everywhere he went, the ghost followed. Every time he blinked, he saw her face. Every guilty act he committed, she knew of.

And now, she was speaking to him.

Shane saw her now. He glanced out over the small cemetery that made up a significant portion of the old church's property and locked eyes with the visually opaque zombie of Katharine Burke.

_"Shaaaaane . . ."_

Still in uniform and soiled by crusty layers of foreign blood from her nose all the way down to her knees, the rotten hallucination was perched atop one of the larger gravestones, balancing in such a way that it would be impossible for a real zombie. Had it been night time, Shane might have been able to see her eyes glowing a bright, animated yellow, much like the creepy walkers from the _Call of Duty: Black Ops_ and _State of Decay_ video games that he'd openly enjoyed long before the apocalypse. It was unrealistic characteristics such as these—which were present in Kat's ghost—that reminded Shane that she wasn't really there.

_"Shaaaaaaaane!"_

The ethereal voice never failed to send icy chills right through him. The terrifying, wheezy whisper juddered over the imaginary corpse's larynx and escaped from between her bloody teeth in exaggerated, elongated syllables. The walker had yet to say any more than his name, as if she was only speaking it just to remind him of her death and to further drive his progressive insanity.

Stuck in a trance and oblivious to the world around him, Shane swallowed hard as the deathly doppelganger agilely leapt from the headstone and landed perfectly on another that was much closer to where he was standing, only a few feet away. Blood-stained teeth clacked softly at him as deep, rapacious growls chugged up from the zombie's vibrating throat like the mechanical bursts of a car's revving engine.

Looking into the ghoul's unnatural eyes, the frozen cop could figuratively see the agony of betrayal beneath Kat's typical empty, blank, zombified expression. It was an emotional tossed salad of unnerving, heart wrenching, surprising, and relieving. Shane's guilt didn't help his psychosis. Whether this was a legitimate ghost or the hallucination of a mental illness, he couldn't help but treat it with the respect the real thing would have demanded. And when the departed sheriff's deputy launched off of the second tombstone and landed on the one right in front of him, he flinched with a gasp loud enough to motivate a nearby murder of crows out of a tree.

It was eerie seeing his presumably extinct lover balancing on a gravestone like a demented gymnast. Unlike the prior two, this ivory memorial was shaped like a cross. Kat's zombie stood with a foot on each of the crucifix's arms—a clueless act of religious disrespect that would have outraged her in life; she leaned down over her surviving pseudo-spouse, still growling, exhaling her sickeningly rancid, hot breath into his face, mocking him, reminding him that even in death, she reluctantly had him wrapped around her little finger, and that she was still aware of everything he did.

Shane wondered if the zombie would bite him. He almost wished she would, just so he could join her. Despite the almost demonic presence before him, he longed for her. When Kat was alive, he'd never been able to truly bring her to life. If only she would bite him, he could at least join her in death and become the half of the zombie that he signified alongside her. Shane then thought that perhaps the carcass couldn't bite him. In their relationship, he was, after all, representative of the hungry, carnivorous predator that made the walking dead so dangerous, while Kat was the wandering, soulless, and decaying aspect that made a zombie so terrifying.

It was true. Even separation by being confined in the world of the living and the realm of the dead respectively, Shane and Kat couldn't function without one another.

But he yearned to join her so bad, he didn't have words to describe it. If only she would bite him . . .

"Are you really leaving?"

Shane jumped in his skin and whipped his head to the side, startled by Lori's voice. He found the skinny woman watching him from the safe distance of two metres away, nervously picking at her shirt as she dared to ask the seemingly exciting question.

When Shane turned back to the crucifix-shaped grave, the ghastly hallucination was gone.

Lori had quickly noticed that Shane seemed to have done a 360 overnight. Just two days ago he'd tried to sexually assault her and force his delusional feelings upon her, and now he was blowing her and Carl off as if they were his nemeses. Lori had no idea what was going on now.

Earlier in the day, she'd stumbled across Shane while he was cleaning out a new car in the traffic jam and trying to get its engine started. He'd told her that everything that had happened between them, especially the incident at the CDC, had all been a mistake. And now, for some mysterious reason, he was planning to leave.

"Don't ya think that it's best for all of us?"

"I think it is," Lori agreed with a sigh. "What made you decide?"

"I've gotta back away," Shane breathed softly, exhausted both physically and mentally from the intense summer heat, the search for Sophia, the dreams and hallucinations, and Lori's drama. "I'm just try'n to be the good guy here Lori, even if you don't see it." He turned and watched her confused facial expressions, trying his best to remain calm and not get all fired up. "None of this was intended. I hope you know that . . . Pffft, it don't matter as long as I said it."

Lori's inner storm was obviously brewing but because her husband was only a few yards away within the confines of the church, she too kept her temper low as she angrily marched right up to Shane. "You're just gunna disappear?! You're not even gunna tell Rick?!"

"Don't try to stop me. Look, that's on you. You tell him what you want, or tell him noth'n at all. You're his wife."

"And Carl? We dragged him into this!"

"I love Carl."

"He thinks you hate him."

"I'm trying to put some distance between us. I'm trying to make this easier. This ain't easy on any of us . . . least of all me. _I'm_ the one who loses you."

"You never _had_ me to begin with!" Lori hissed. She quickly glanced over and saw Andrea eavesdropping on their conversation, her mouth hanging open in shock. Annoyed, Lori lowered her tone and spoke harsh whispers almost directly into Shane's ear. "You never had me. Get it through your head, Shane. I'm not yours. I never was. I never will be. _Find your own family, goddamn it!_"

"Why do you think I'm leaving?" Shane snarled. "So I can find them."

Lori took a step back and her eyes widened. "They're dead, Shane."

"Well I have reason to believe they may still be alive."

"Oh really?" Lori put her hands on her hips and stared at him as if he were a disobedient child. "Have you lost your mind?"

"No, Lori. I haven't."

"Well then . . . ! Why the sudden change?"

"That's none of your business."

"I think it is my business."

"And why is that? Like you said, I never had you, so what makes what I do any of your business?"

Lori took another step back. Her mouth moved, trying to form words, but she was left speechless. What _had_ happened in Shane's mind? Just yesterday, he'd been everything Jacqui had described. Now, he was the opposite. It was a miracle, one Lori knew had to be too good to be true.

"Well, Lori?"

"Shane . . . She's dead."

"What?"

"Kat's dead. _Dead_!"

Shane's eyes shifted to the floor. "And what if she ain't?"

"She is."

"She might not be."

Lori couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You said it yourself; she's dead."

"She might not be. I was wrong to jump to that conclusion."

"What?"

Shane looked sadly into Lori's eyes. "I'll accept her death only when I know it's for certain." Ironically, he felt as if the ominous visions were suddenly motivating him—almost _ordering_ him—to leave and begin an inter-county search instead of merely accepting Kat's fate and moving on. Coupled with Rick's seemingly paranormal knowledge, Shane felt as if he had no choice but to go look. He was even beginning to think for the first time since the 15th of April that his favourite lady cop may have survived after all.

Appreciation for all of the obvious signs indicating that Kat's zombie-ghost was just a creepy phantasm—such as the walker's unrealistically pristine coordination, her once hazel eyes that now glowed yellow like miniature headlights at night, and her ability to enunciate words—was also setting in. The psychosis was easy to accept; the fact that it was most likely a symptom of what would have earned him a classification among the mentally insane in the pre-apocalyptic world was not.

"And if it is? What are you going to do then?"

"I don't know."

"You are not making _any_ sense. You're not thinking clearly. Something happened to make you change your mind." Despite her overwhelming desire for Shane to leave, Lori didn't feel that it was her place to be cold enough to banish Shane or encourage his departure. Kat would have done that; she would have thrown him out onto the streets and walked away. Lori would not play the role of Katharine Burke anymore. So instead of raising her voice and acting rash, she bit back her anger, hid her enthusiasm over the idea, and tried to knock some semblance of sense into Shane's thick head.

Shane heard the concealed question in Lori's last sentence and refused to give her the satisfaction of answering it. "Like I said, that's none of your business." He didn't see the point in telling Lori about Dr. Jenner's revelations about Dorian Chambers. She would just scoff at it anyways.

"Are you taking anyone with you?"

"No."

"That's _insane_. You're as good as dead out there on your own."

"What do you care?"

"I may be pissed off at you, but I'm _not_ heartless. Nor am I going to approve of you going on a suicide mission to chase a ghost."

Shane let out a rather loud, sarcastic chuckle. "Almost sounds like you're fishing for an invite to come with me."

Lori felt an eruption of rage fire up, but again, she bit it back and kept her sharp, alto voice steady and as civil as she could muster. "You've _got_ to be kidding me!"

Shane simply shot her a knowing look. He still believed somehow that there was more to Lori's subconscious feelings for him than what she was leading him to believe.

"And what if Kat isn't really dead? You want Carl and me to be there when you find your biological children and your imaginary wife? Without Rick? What would you do with us? Carl and I would be in your shoes right now—right where you are with Rick being back. What would you do? Be as cold as Kat and send us away like she did to you all those years? Noooo—nope! You're so selfish, you'd keep us around, wouldn't you? Cuz why settle for one woman when you can have two?"

Shane suddenly raised his hand as if to punch Lori right in the face, but a sudden burst of self-restraint stopped his fist mid-air. Lori flinched; when the blow didn't come, she peeked out from beneath her arm's defensive position and saw Shane storming off through the set of graves she'd found him peculiarly engrossed with just a few minutes ago. He was glaring at her over his shoulder with eyes colder than ice, baring his teeth at her with an almost predacious rage that she'd only ever seen on the faces of convicted murderers on truTV crime documentaries, psychopaths like Ed Peletier, and walkers.

Lori knew she had taken her words way too far that time and cringed with a silent hiss. Biting her lip with regret, she turned and trotted back up into the church and decided to take advantage of this rare opportunity to privately confess her recent sins to the Lord and repent for them while Carol, Rick, and the others did the same.

* * *

><p>Well like I said, only two or three chapters to go and I'll be starting a completely original version of Season 3. :D<strong> What do you guys think of Season 3 as it is on TV so far? Anything in particular from Season 3 that you guys would like to see (or not see?) in my upcoming, original version? Feel free to name anything you'd like to see or don't want to see, whether it be certain characters, places, symbolisms, eventsscenes, themes, or whatever!** I'm game for all kinds of suggestions and I'd like to incorporate _some_ of the canon Season 3 things into this story! NOT all of it though, and certainly not _exact_ scenes from the show, because that would make things boring of course and I'm not about to waste my time re-writing a scene that you can just go watch on television (as you've noticed by my writing so far lol). That, and my original story is way too different for everything. But I think it would be cool to incorporate some things, even if it is just a few of the new (or returning) characters or ideas. A handful of aspects from Season 3 have already been woven in, but still, I wanna hear your ideas/suggestions/wishes! :D **Of course, feel free to make your own original suggestions too! **I'd love to hear them! :)

_**Thank you for all of the reviews last chapter!**_ :D I get super duper excited whenever I get a new review! _**Keep 'em coming!**_ *squeeeee!* **ALL OF THE REVIEWS FOR THE LAST CHAPTER GOT ME ALL MOTIVATED TO BUST THIS CHAPTER OUT! **_**PLEASE REVIEW THIS CHAPTER TO KEEP ME MOTIVATED AND SO YOU GET THE UPDATE YOU SO BADLY WANT WAY FASTER!**_

**SERIOUSLY, I SQUEAL LIKE A LITTLE GIRL WHENEVER I SEE A NEW REVIEW IN MY EMAIL INBOX! Reviews will make me love you forever!**

Do you have any suggestions, ideas, comments, or critiques? Pairings you'd like to see? Characters you would like to see zombified or just flat out eaten alive? Suggest away in your review!

_**My Zombie Valentine**_ copyright © **28 March 2012** by _**Darkinyron**_

_**The Walking Dead **_copyright © _**Robert Kirkman**_


	10. Curium

**MY ZOMBIE VALENTINE  
><strong>**By: Darkinyron**

* * *

><p><strong>~ CHAPTER TEN ~<strong>

**CURIUM**

_SEASON 2 – IN BETWEEN EPISODES 2 & 3_

_(Carl Grimes was accidently shot by Otis and is now at Hershel's getting medical attention. Otis and Shane have gone to a zombie-infested FEMA shelter at a high school to try and find a respirator and other medical supplies so Hershel can surgically remove bullet fragments from Carl's abdomen. Rick is going insane with worry.)_

SEVENTY DAYS AFTER receiving a gunshot wound in his chest, Rick's body was still healing and therefore unprepared to donate two full units of blood. But with his parental instincts overriding his own to survive, Rick had no choice but to sacrifice his crimson lifeline in order to save his only child as the strident bang of Otis' rifle recurrently echoed in his aural mind.

Delirious and still panicked, Rick aimlessly wandered around the Greene family's home, waiting for Shane Walsh and Otis, the hunter who had accidently shot Carl, to return with medical supplies for Carl's surgery. Unlike Lori, who was dissonantly tranquil, strong-minded, and persevering, Rick could not find it within himself to sit still. He paced, chewed his nails, and replayed the day's events over and over and over again within his mind while the room seemingly spun in askew, slow-motion circles.

"You need to calm down," a commanding, parental voice ordered from behind him.

Rick turned around and saw the silhouette of Hershel Greene standing in the living room's doorway. The elderly veterinarian who was destined to replace Shane as Rick's co-leader stepped forward and handed him a refilled glass of orange juice, which Rick accepted. With both hands shaking from the shock of blood loss, Rick weakly held the glass up to his lips and downed the chilled liquid so that it could help his body replenish its depleted erythrocytes.

"The boy will live," Hershel was affirming, his voice low and supportive. "But you must have faith in that. When you lose faith, you lose hope, and that negative energy will find its way into his life."

"His life is in your hands," Rick rasped, juddering. "You've kept him alive thus far."

"Yes," Hershel agreed with a slight nod. "But I'm not God, and I can do little more than monitor his condition until Otis and Shane return with the supplies we need to put him under."

"I hope they make it back."

"And that's another thing you must have faith in."

Feeling like a hypocrite, Rick understood that his new friend was right. Just last night, while they'd turned the Sunoco gas station into a provisional Motel 6, he'd lectured Shane rather harshly about not believing in the survival of his family. He'd expected much more than that from his best friend, whose unrestrained emotions often reeked of denial and faith in the inconceivable when it came to his relationship with Deputy Burke—or any topic, for that matter. Now, Rick's own conviction was being tested in a way so similar that he obligated to man up and try taking his own advice.

"I'm trying," Rick huffed after savouring the last pulpy sip of orange juice.

Rick handed the empty glass back to Hershel and took a seat on the couch beside his duty belt, which he had taken off when Maggie had offered to run his bloodied uniform through the wash machine. He leaned back into the soft cushions and closed his eyes, wishing that whenever he chose to open them again that the room would have ceased its spinning.

"You should rest," Hershel suggested, again in the form of a mild command. "All this pacing and worrying is doing you no good. You cannot help the boy if you are an emotional wreck. I understand how hard this is for you—really, I do—I've been there, with this plague. But in order to be strong for him, you must keep yourself strong, and that won't happen unless you rest."

The withered sheriff's deputy reluctantly opened his eyes, saw the concern in Hershel's, and relented with an insecure nod.

"Shane, is he your brother?" Hershel wondered.

Rick managed a smirk. "We get that a lot," he chuckled, having been asked that many times over the years due to their sibling-like friendship and similarities in appearance. "He's my best friend. My blood brother, if you will. I've known Shane since we were in eighth grade. We're brothers in every way except for genetically."

"Then he's reliable," Hershel concluded aloud.

"Yeah . . . Yeah, he is."

"I could tell you're close, that he's loyal to you."

"We are, and he always has been. We've been there for each other through thick and thin, time and time again."

"Then stop fretting and let him go to Hell and back for you once more."

Rick saw the fatherly wisdom in the older man's eyes, heard it in his gentle intonation, and felt an odd sense of security come into his presence.

"He knows the way," Hershel added. "And he'll return, because he's made this trip before. Right?"

This time, Rick's nod had a stronger feeling of belief in it.

Hershel picked a couple of pillows and an afghan off of an armchair and handed them to Rick. "Here, take a little nap," he said as he moved Rick's duty belt onto the adjacent coffee table. "When you wake up, you'll have to eat something solid, but for now, your body needs rest. I can tell you're becoming delirious from donating so much blood, and that's the last thing you need. If anything changes with Carl's condition, you'll be the first to know. Lori is in the room with him now, and we are all praying for him."

"Thank you," Rick whimpered as he made himself comfortable on the couch. It wasn't long before he was out like a light.

* * *

><p>Knots of queasiness woke Rick up suddenly from his deep slumber an hour or so later. Before any thoughts had time to ambush his overwhelmed mind, he felt the muscles beneath his tongue weakly clench and his oesophagus begin to mock the unfamiliar yet recognisable gastric protuberances that had disturbed his nap. Despite his lingering dizziness, Rick was up on his feet and emptying the pitiful contents of his upset stomach into the nearest toilet before the room had time to transform back into the stupid merry-go-round it had pretended to be earlier.<p>

His stomach barely had anything in it to purge itself of, but the nausea maintained its presence even after his throat relaxed. Figuring he would have to puke again, Rick grabbed the bathroom's waste basket and wandered back to the couch with it. He set it down and took a few tiny sips of water from a glass that Hershel must have left for him at some point during his nap, taking caution by swallowing as slowly as he could muster, knowing that his stomach wouldn't hesitate to rebel against his goal of rehydration if he drank too fast. If he did have to puke again, he thought it would be best to have contents other than acidic bile come up and something nearby for it to go in.

Fear about Carl dying quickly re-entered Rick's mind, motivating the room to begin spinning once again. He kept his eyes closed and tried not to think about it, but he couldn't help feeling as if he were stuck in some intermediate level of temporary insanity. The shock of blood loss that his body was going through was undoubtedly depriving his brain of its normal amounts of oxygen, so he really couldn't blame himself. But it still freaked him out nonetheless to see everything in slow motion, blurred, and laden with bits of twinkling light that people often described as 'seeing stars'. Objects looked bloated, straight edges looked curved, and he felt like he did not fit in among any of it. Had it not been for the lingering nausea after his violent upchuck, his paradoxical yet unsurprising hunger, the pounding in his head, the growing soreness throughout his muscles from running so far with Carl in his arms, or his incessant shivering, Rick would have thought that he was simply stranded in another one of his annoying narcoleptic ruts between REM sleep and waking up. The sleep paralysis aspect of his narcolepsy clearly had no interest in bothering him tonight—but he couldn't speak for any of its other symptoms.

Rick vomited again several minutes later into the garbage can, the strain of which caused his eyesight to actually black out for a minute or so afterwards until he was able to resume an upright sitting position. He blinked several times until the swimming room eventually flickered back to life and for once did not fight his sleep disorder as it began shrouding his fatigued body with rapid, irresistible exhaustion. Thinking of absolutely nothing, he stared stupidly into space, eyes glassy like a drunken mess, hair sticking to his forehead which was still sweating clammy bullets, completely oblivious to both the world around him and his own existence—narcolepsy's permanent hostage.

In the midst of his vacant stare and utter lack of thoughts, he was suddenly distracted from his absent-minded state by the soft sound of white noise that began emanating from his police radio, which was on the coffee table and still clasped to his duty belt. Blinking hard, he knotted his eyebrows together out of curiosity and focused in on the new interruption, gazing at it for several elongated seconds before his brain finally processed the stimuli and let him respond to it.

Rick was surprised that the radio was even turned on when he picked it up; he'd kept if off except for the small window of daily time each morning when he would attempt to get a hold of Morgan. He remembered double checking that he'd turned it back off this morning and coupled with the unexpected, aberrant static that he'd never heard the radio make before, Rick felt even more confused and certain that he must be losing his mind.

Hoping that the white noise was the product of another radio that ideally had a living owner, Rick held the device up to his mouth, pressed the transmitter, and apprehensively called out to it.

"Hello . . .?"

Stress and his colossal headache made him forget how to properly speak like a policeman over the radio. He released the transmitter, heard nothing but static, and tried again.

"Hello?"

A few seconds later, Rick felt his heart rate elevate with excitement.

_"H-hel-hello . . .?_" a groggy, raspy voice whispered. It sounded sick, exhausted, and drugged—much like his own.

Now trembling more from a refreshing surge of adrenaline and his disbelief at hearing another human voice, Rick responded on impulse, refusing to lose whoever was on the other end.

"H-hello! I hear you! Can you hear me?" He kept his voice down so not to disturb anyone in the house.

_"I . . . I hear you . . ." _the withered soul confirmed between the constant white noise, which paused whenever the person spoke.

"Who is this? Where are you?" Rick hurriedly wondered, catching himself from broadcasting a thousand eager questions to the stranger.

Static was all that responded; after several seconds, he panicked.

"Hello!? Are you there!?" he fervently demanded.

More painstaking seconds passed by before the dopey voice finally replied.

_". . . Rick?"_

Goosebumps formed all over Rick's clammy skin upon hearing his name, and a paranormal chill raced down the length of his spine. _No way, it can't be!_ his dumbfounded mind shouted to itself.

"_. . . Rick?"_

He recognised that voice. And he couldn't believe it. Even though it sounded nothing like it was supposed to, he could never mistake its origin or question its authenticity. Despite the inconceivable odds, there wasn't a doubt in Rick's mind regarding its identity.

"Oh my God! Kat Burke?!" he gasped quietly. And then he was immediately enshrouded by a nerve-wracking anxiety that she'd stop talking altogether.

"_Rick . . . ? Is that you . . . ?"_

"Yes! It's me! I'm here!"

_"Rick . . . ?"_

"I'm here, Kat! I'm here! Talk to me!"

_"770?"_

"238?"

Something clicked in that moment and the woman who had died in that walker-infested hospital with Rick finally accepted that he was real.

_"Rick! Where are you?!"_

"I'm . . . I'm at a farm. It's somewhere in Linden County, just off of the 85 . . . . . . Carl's been shot!" he cried.

_". . . Carl's been shot?!"_ Kat then paused on the other end, probably to take in this new dose of shocking information. _"What?! How?!"_

"By a hunter . . . It . . . i-i-it was an accident! We . . . we were walking through the woods, t-t-tr-trying to find a member of our group. We seen a deer and . . . and . . . and the hunter didn't see him. He tried to shoot the deer . . ." Rick then felt his throat lock up after his quick update and had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep the pressure behind them at bay. He whined pitifully into his sleeve, unwilling to sacrifice energy he didn't even have by losing it.

Kat waited for her friend to relax, likely knowing that he was too busy suppressing his grief to listen to her and while his finger was still pressing the transmitter button.

_"Rick? Are you alright?"_ she eventually asked, sounding a bit clearer than she had before. Rick sensed a great deal of worry in her still very fatigued voice.

"No! My . . . my boy . . . my little boy!"

_"Is he . . . ?" _ She trailed off, not wanting to vocalise the word that Rick knew would fill in the blank.

"He's alive, but he might not make it!" Rick blubbered, trying to get a grip on himself. "We . . . we found a man, named Hershel. He's a doctor . . . a veterinarian. He lives with the hunter. He's trying to help Carl, but . . . but . . . we don't know if he's gunna make it. I've donated two rounds of blood . . . but he's losing it fast . . . cuz there's internal bleeding. The bullet fragmented . . . the pieces are in his abdomen . . . and . . . and he's unconscious . . ."

_"My God! When did this happen?!" _her fragile voice asked.

"This afternoon. It hasn't been long and . . . and already he's going downhill, fast! It's a wonder he's still alive. There are no hospitals . . ." Rick then thought of Shane, and how he'd run off with Otis to go retrieve what Hershel needed for Carl's operation.

And then it hit him. Katharine Burke was on the other end of the radio he held in his hand, while her boyfriend/fiancé/whatever he was to her was out risking his life alongside a man he didn't even know to save Carl. He had no idea if Shane's mission would be successful, while Kat most likely thought that Shane was dead.

Deciding not to tell her just yet—because he had no guarantee that Shane _would_ return at all—Rick kept talking. To tell Kat that her love was alive and well now, only for shit to hit the fan during the medical supply run so that they'd never see Shane again would not only be too much for his wounded friend to handle, it would just be cruel.

"We . . . we had to send . . . people . . . to get supplies . . . We're lucky we found this place at all and that Hershel's a medical professional. I just . . . I dunno."

Rick didn't notice that the eerie white noise that had surrounded and accompanied Kat's transmissions had completely disappeared until she began her next broadcast. And when she did, her voice was suddenly devoid of the sheer exhaustion and dopiness that he'd heard in it earlier. When she talked again, her voice sounded healthy, strong, and normal as if it had made a split second recovery from whatever had been plaguing it.

_"He'll pull through,"_ Kat stated firmly, with the utmost confidence, similar to how Hershel had spoken to him earlier. It wasn't a proclamation of encouragement; the way she enunciated it was in the form of a conclusive fact.

"How can you be sure? He's in a coma. The odds are against him."

_"You're looking at the odds, after all that you've seen and been through?"_ Kat asked in such a way that Rick couldn't tell if she was lecturing him, utterly baffled, or just being sarcastic. _"Rick, you and I both _died_ . . . of gunsho_t_ wounds. You obviously somehow spontaneously resurrected, recovered, and escaped from Harrison Memorial Hospital. I'm sure you've been filled in about the plague by now, and know that you have contagious, breathing corpses all around you, trying to devour you, infect you, and turn you into one of them. You were reunited with your living family, during Armageddon. And it just so happens that the deer hunter who shot Carl lives with a doctor. After all of that, do you really think the odds even matter anymore, Rick?"_

She had a point, which Rick had to admit to himself.

_"Your son is strong, like you. You may not see it in him yet, but he is. Carl will not die. He will survive, just as you did."_

"But how can you be sure?"

_"I just know."_

"How?"

_"Trust me, Rick. He _will_ live, and _you_ need to have some faith."_

There was that word again . . . _faith._ Hershel had used the word many times now to motivate his hopes, even when he couldn't seem to find any for himself. Rick precipitously amused himself with the notion that if Kat ever met Hershel, the two would likely get along very well.

_"Carl will go when his time comes. Now is not his time. He has my prayers . . . and someone watching over him."_

Kat seemed to be forgetting that The Almighty had recently gone on some kind of omnipotent killing spree, snatching peoples' souls left and right before their times and leaving their physical shells to take care of the rest. He almost started to remind her of that, until a vague memory crossed his mind of Kat coming to see him while he was stuck in the coma and telling him that one of her daughters had been infected with some kind of terminal illness, just a few days after she had been forced to end the lives of two very good friends who had suffered the same fate. Not wanting to upset her so soon, or jinx Carl, Rick bit his tongue and made a mental note to himself to bring up that sensitive topic—and Shane—at a later date.

"I'm so scared," he whined instead.

_"Of course you are," _Kat whispered compassionately. The calm resolution then returned to her alto voice. _"But you can't let your fear get the best of you."_

Rick nodded, remembered his police training and how it had taught him to outcast fear from his life, and somehow found an odd sense of comfort in it.

"Okay," he relented, sighing heavily and nodding to himself. "Okay."

_"Now get yourself together,"_ Kat gently commanded him in her sisterly way. _"Breathe deep, have faith, and go stay at his side until all of this is over. Talk to him, like we talked to you. None of us gave up on you, so now it's your turn."_

"You're right," Rick agreed with a hint of relief. He then gave in to his curiosity, unable to contain it any longer. "What about you? Are you okay?"

_"I'm fine,"_ Kat grumbled with an audible cringe; Rick saw through her tone of voice, though he couldn't tell if his friend was in pain or something else.

"What's wrong?" It was a stupid question, but a necessary one to ask.

_"I don't want to talk about it."_

Rick rolled his eyes. Some people never changed.

"Of course you don't, but I _order_ you to tell me."

_"I will . . . when I have the answer, and when you have time to listen. You don't need any more stress to worry about. You need to be with your son right now, Brohan."_

"Where are you? Is it somewhere safe at least?"

_"To be honest, I'm not even sure. But yes . . . I'm safe."_

"Well uhh, that's good . . ." he uttered, finding her response odd. He then heard Carl's bedroom door open and footsteps coming his way. "_Shit! _I have to go now. Keep your radio on; I'll talk to you as soon as I can. Stay there, wherever 'there' is . . . _please_."

_"Clear,"_ the other sheriff's deputy said simply with an audible shrug in her voice.

* * *

><p><em>SEASON 2 – EPISODE 3<em>

_(While trying to escape with the supplies for Carl's surgery, Shane and Otis run out of bullets. Injured and limping, Shane orders Otis to take his bag and go on without him, but Otis refuses to leave him. Knowing that his limp will likely get them both killed, Shane acts on his injudicious decision to shoot Otis, pries the bag from him, and leaves him to the zombies. Otis is devoured by the horde, which allows Shane to escape.)_

This wasn't the first time he'd taken the life of another human being.

Just a couple of months ago, he'd used deadly force to put down the deranged man who had sent a bullet through Rick Grimes' chest. Shane's well-aimed shot to the fugitive's heart had killed him instantaneously, and Rick had thanked him for it. He'd done the right thing, and although he hated that he'd been forced to do it, he did not regret it. He was a hero for defending the life of his best friend and partner.

Killing in defence of a third person was admirable. It was permissible by both society and law, and everyone had reminded him that he had nothing to feel guilty about because the criminal had deserved his premature death, a friend's life had been saved, and further injuries had been prevented. And despite the emotional weight and stress it had thrown on his chest, as well as the nightmares it had caused, Shane thought he'd recovered from the incident surprisingly well.

Had any of the three shooters survived, and had the zombie apocalypse not taken place, Shane would have done everything in his power to assist the prosecution in winning a death penalty conviction against them if Rick hadn't lived. He would have wanted to hear their terrified voices plea for forgiveness before sizzling in an electric chair.

Instead of watching the shooter fry at a later date, he'd acted on instinct and executed him immediately before he'd even had a chance to think about it.

_I did it for Rick . . . I had no other choice. It was all for Rick._

Instead of allowing Otis to fix his mistake, he'd dealt him a cruel and unusual punishment for an accident he hadn't meant to cause.

Instead of listening to the chilling wails of a cop killer sitting on Old Sparky's lap, Shane was hearing the bloodcurdling, macabre screams of a remorseful, yet innocent victim being eviscerated by numerous sets of human teeth.

_I did it for Carl . . . I had no other choice. He was holding me back. I told him to go. He refused. I had to kill him to save Carl . . . Right?_

He heard the echoes of Otis' death even after he'd driven off. His brain attempted to make sense of what he'd just done, but like always, his thoughts in the immediate aftermath of a crisis had the consistency of scrambled eggs.

A thousand thoughts were flying throughout Shane's mind in so many directions all at once that it was like he wasn't even thinking at all. Mentally, he felt like a frozen computer screen—unable to function or perform because the amount of shit that he needed to sort out and ponder far exceeded his maximum processing capability. His volcanic mental landscape may as well have been the scene of the world's worst traffic jam. All that was available to motivate him now was his instinctual fear of death coupled with his determination to see Carl through to recovery. Shane Walsh refused to let another beloved child die on his watch.

Yet there was always one person Shane could rely on to snap him out of a mental overload and distract him from his mission.

When he'd reached the halfway point of the five mile trip back to Hershel's house, Shane's ungovernable thoughts skewed even further and Carl Grimes' priority level fell faster than a balloon full of lead. It was both the last thing he needed right now, and exactly what he craved.

He saw the zombie's ocular headlights before anything else, and instantly—without thought—he eased his feet onto the old truck's clutch and brake pedals with caution.

It was as if his undead soul mate had an invisible magnet looped around her neck, one so strong that even with Carl's life on the line, Shane couldn't sever or even resist his attraction to it.

Any other walker would have been ignored, but this wasn't just any walker.

Shane gradually brought the rickety blue truck to a halt once the hallucinated silhouette came into full view. When he parked, the apparition ceased her senseless meandering, corrected her gimpy posture, and looked him straight in the eye.

As he stepped out of the truck, Shane dimmed its high beams to normal. It was not considered whether the act was just common courtesy, to get a better look, or for some other reason. The zombie didn't seem to care, or even notice.

She moseyed towards him a bit, stopped a few feet away from him, and studied him awkwardly. Shane guardedly approached, unable to ignore the tightening knot of fear in his throat.

The animated yellow glow that made her eyes look like little headlights dimmed as he got closer, much to his surprise. The gesture seemed conscious—or at least, he hoped it was.

Seeing Kat's ghost at night was far more petrifying than it was during the daytime. She was a spitting image of one of the undead SS soldiers from _Call of Duty: World at War – Zombies,_ except instead of a Schutzstaffel uniform, her attire was still that of a police officer. As animated as she was with her glowing eyeballs, it wasn't enough for Shane to wonder if just maybe his subconscious had utilised his memories of Adolf Hitler's fictional minions and other video game zombies as base images to create the phantom standing before him. All he was capable of understanding was the deep, fascinating horror that wore the mask of awe as it stole over him. It was a feeling comparable to one reserved for the worst nightmares, the ones you can barely remember upon awakening yet cannot stop thinking about for days. But this was not a nightmare. And he did not want to stop thinking about it.

Shane could just make out the black outline of Kat's irises and pupils through the faint beacons of light as they came face to face. Fresh blood glistened in the moonlight around her mouth. It was obvious that the imaginary walker had fed recently, and Shane didn't doubt that it was meant to have come from Otis' carcass.

"Darlin' . . ." Shane whined. His lower lip trembled as his festering, infected emotional wounds began to bleed with the intensity of a jetliner flying deliberately into a building. "Kat . . . My darlin' Kat . . ."

The revenant of Deputy Katharine Burke cocked her head exaggeratedly at Shane and examined him with the expression of a curious, dim-witted dog.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, letting his regard fall with shame for a few seconds before looking at her again. "For everything."

As the corpse seemingly tried to figure him out, a tiny, blinking red light coming from her knee area caught Shane's attention. He tore his gaze away from her silly blank stare that was so eerily typical and found that the light's source was coming from a portable MARCS radio that was dangling by its antenna from Kat's fingers.

"You found it," Shane observed with a brief smirk, remembering that up until now, Kat's radio had been missing from her uniform. He noted that she was still lacking a badge—which he kept in his back pocket.

Kat cocked her head in the other direction; he assumed that in her brain dead state, she probably had no idea what he was referring to.

"Your radio," he reminded her, nodding his head towards the hanging electronic device. "You just find it today?"

Katharine's ghost lifted the device and studied it stupidly as if trying to remember what it was, or maybe where it had come from. Then, she effortlessly clasped it onto the exact same segment of her utility belt that she'd worn it on throughout her career, wiped the blood that remained on her chin onto her sleeve, and began mindlessly picking flesh out of her teeth with a fingernail.

"It kills me to see you like this," Shane admitted, his tone low and laden with guilt. "I want you back, Kat. I miss you. I _need_ you." He felt foolish confessing his personal crime to a cadaver—especially one that wasn't even real, but he didn't care because she was here, and it was the only way he could communicate with the one he still loved more than anything. "I love you."

Shane's words pressed a button. With an irritated snort, Kat raised her head to meet his gaze again and in an instant her vacuous state of mind vanished into thin air. Her eyebrows knotted into an exasperated scowl that was emphasised by the way she tilted her head forward, her pupils focused, and her lips curled back.

Startled by the sudden change in his dead lover's demeanour, Shane raised his hands defensively and took a step back. "I know . . . I know I've wronged you. I know you can see that. But . . . but I love you, Kat. I always have. 'N I always will. This world, I just . . . I-I-I can't live in it! At least . . . not without you. Without you 'n our kids, I'm nothing. I'm a father by nature; you know that! And . . . I've lost everything."

After another pouty growl, Kat's face relaxed and took on an aura of drowsiness. Shane thought that maybe the zombie was sleepy due to the large, ghostly meal she had recently consumed. Real zombies seemed to become more complacent and docile when their stomachs were full, he'd noticed. Perhaps she was no different.

"Will you talk to me, Kat?" Shane asked softly. "Please? I love you. I need to know if you still love me too."

Kat responded to his desperate beg by stepping forward so that they were face to face. With their noses mere inches away from one another, Kat spiritually reclaimed Shane's personal space as her own territory that a certain other individual should have never been allowed to trample on.

"Tell me you love me, Kat . . . Please, I need to hear it. You told me once before. I need to know if you still do . . . if . . . if I still mean anything to you . . . if there's still gunna be a place for me at your side when I die . . ."

The rattled policeman then learned that the unrealistic revenant was in fact much more physically manifested than he was aware of when she rested the ever-bloodied palm of her hand on his chest, right over his heart. It felt almost as legitimate as the living thing.

"_Shaaaane_ . . ." the ghost-walker finally rasped in her ethereal voice.

Staring back into her eyes, Shane searched them for a glimmer of life. As if Kat's expressions weren't hard enough to decipher on their own, whatever caused her eyes to glow made it damn near impossible now. But he tried anyways, and when he felt Kat place her other hand over his heart, he detected a twinkle of remembrance in her soul.

Kat's eyes lit up—literally—when she found Shane's heartbeat. She stood still and seemed to savour the feeling of the soft, muffled, and now almost giddy pulsations that signified his lifeline. Many nights, Kat would rest her head on Shane's chest and let the gentle metronome lull her to sleep while he ran his fingers through her dark locks of hair. Cuddling was secretly one of Kat's favourite bonding activities, and Shane had always loved that about her. Nothing in the world was more gratifying than falling asleep in a soul mate's arms. And sleep was one of Kat's most peaceful states that always came with a faint, blissful smile.

Knots of passionate nostalgia tightened in Shane's core, beneath the palms of Kat's decaying, blood-soaked hands. Her expression softened a bit, letting Shane know that she felt it too.

Although the ghost of Kat Burke appeared to him as a zombie, Shane now understood that she was more than what met the eye. She sensed things, had some degree of brain activity, and not only remembered the past but longed for it. Yet despite her seemingly advanced intellect, Kat was still an incomplete spiritual zombie. And he was in the same figurative boat.

Yet here she was, and Shane would take a phantasmal apparition any day over nothing at all.

Just as Kat had sought to experience the tactile memory of her lover's heartbeat, Shane longed to do the same. He touched her chest, but the bulletproof vest prevented him from feeling her pulse so he brought one hand up to the side of her neck, rested his palm over her carotid artery, and felt . . . absolutely nothing.

Whether or not real walkers had heartbeats wasn't known to him. But the heart of Kat's zombie-wraith certainly did not. He wondered what it was supposed to mean.

"You were never heartless," Shane commented softly, staring down at her protected chest.

Kat's whole face was echoing with pain when he looked into her eyes again. She looked sad, lonely, betrayed, angry, and confused all at the same time. For something that appeared so dead, she certainly felt so _alive._ And it effortlessly crushed him.

Otis had refused Shane's order to take his bag and go on without him when he kept falling. He vindicated that he'd probably said it because it would have allowed him to die and be with his family again, while sacrificing his life to save Carl at the same time. But the retired EMT was too kind to let him 'opt out', so he'd been forced to live another day by killing him.

The words of Lynn Sommers and Rick Grimes echoed throughout his mind. _'Get busy living, or get busy dying.'_ He wondered again how Rick could have known Lynn's final words. He suspected that Rick knew something regarding Kat's fate, or at least had a damn good reason to believe that she wasn't really dead. Perhaps he'd seen something, heard a rumour, or had found another clue when he'd woken up in the abandoned hospital. Or perhaps Rick's natural intuition was coming in handy. He'd always had some kind of psychic bond with Kat, one which Shane thought only existed between identical twins. If he hadn't known any better, he may have assumed that Rick and Kat were actually siblings. Thankfully, they weren't.

Lori's rejection and dismissal also nagged at him. _"Find your own family, goddamn it!"_ she'd barked just hours ago.

Shane now saw all of the signs waving before his eyes. He had been planning to leave, needed to, and understood why. Lori didn't want him anymore because she no longer had any use for him, so he told himself to accept it and move on. Rick had given him the inspiration he'd needed. Otis' murder allowed him to live so he could act on it.

"I'm gunna come find you," he firmly avowed to the hallucination. "I _will_ find you." And regardless of whether he found a living human or a walking corpse, Shane was indomitable.

Kat's eye-lights brightened a bit more at his words. _"Shaaane . . ."_

"Get busy living, or get busy dying . . ." Shane remembered allowed. "Is _that_ why I'm see'n you like this?"

With a snort of rotten breath, the spirit's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"You told me you'd survive," he reminded her, his voice beginning to rattle with injured darkness. "_Damn it_, Kat! You _PROMISED _me you'd survive!"

In the manner of a submissive animal, Kat lowered her head with a flinch and averted her golden eyes in shame—no differently than how she had in life whenever she was guilty of something and confronted about it.

"YOU'RE _NOT_ DEAD!" Shane abruptly shouted with a sudden, broken rage he'd never before used against her. "I _won't LET_ you be dead! I WON'T_! _YOU ARE ALIVE_! YOU'RE NOT DEAD BECAUSE YOU_ _PROMISED ME YOU WOULDN'T BE_!"

Shane then grabbed the decomposing wraith by her shoulders and shook her like an angry parent trying to knock some sense into the mind of a delinquent teenager.

"YOU'RE NOT DEAD! YOU'RE _NOT DEAD_!" he yelled, though he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself of such than her. "YOU _CAN'T_ BE! You're _ALIVE, goddamn it! YOU'RE ALIVE!"_

Fed up, or perhaps in perceived self-defence, the zombie's eyes brightened to an almost blinding intensity and she let out an unearthly, screechy growl right in his face. The light, as well as the overpowering reek of post-mortem halitosis, pulled Shane into a nauseating, forceful recoil away from her. He gagged a few times until he caught a breath of normal fresh air.

When Shane looked back up again, the corporeal apparition was gone. He glanced around, but it was as if she had simply vanished into thin air, leaving him all alone with only the broken record of Otis' final screams in his mind's ear to keep him company.

* * *

><p>Confused? Good! LOL But don't worry, everything will eventually all make sense!<p>

A few notes:

-The Rick/Kat radio conversation was _partially_ inspired by the Rick/Amy et al. telephone conversations in Season 3. I had the general idea for the scene itself planned long before Season 2 even ended; I just didn't know how to work it into the story. After watching Season 3, I thought modelling Rick's radio scene after his telephone scenes would be a great way to keep my readers guessing, comparing, thinking, and analysing. (If you're worrying that this story will end up being a Season 3 re-write, DON'T! I made it clear that I wouldn't be pulling any of that shit! =] I will be incorporating some aspects of Season 3 and even late-Season 2 into this soon-to-be original story, as I mentioned in Chapter 9, so stay tuned.)

-For those of you who think Shane premeditated Otis' murder: go re-watch that episode. At no point during the mission did ANY of Shane's words, expressions, actions, etc. indicate that he planned to kill Otis. Quite the opposite, in fact—ex. Shane's reaction to Otis saying his fat ass wouldn't fit through the bleacher windows and his seemingly suicidal locker room escape plan (during which he even shot a legless walker that was trying to take a bite out of Otis), his relief when they met back up outside ("Man, I thought I'd lost you!"), and most importantly, injured Shane telling Otis to take his bag and go on without him, even going so far as to get mad and smack the pavement when Otis refused to leave him behind.

-As a reminder, Rick's narcolepsy is not a new thing. He was thinking about it in Chapter 2, comparing it to the locked-in/psuedocoma state he was in at the time. Rick's narcolepsy plays a very important role in my story, as I'm sure you're beginning to notice. ;)

**Trivia:** The element curium, after which this chapter is named, was originally known as 'delirium', the Latin word for 'madness'.

Anyways . . . **PLEASE REVIEW! SUGGESTIONS WELCOME!**

Do you have any suggestions, ideas, comments, or critiques? Pairings you'd like to see? Characters you would like to see zombified or just flat out eaten alive? Suggest away in your review!

(Date of Chapter 10 upload: 19 September 2013)

**_My Zombie Valentine_** copyright © **28 March 2012** by **_Darkinyron_**

_**The Walking Dead** _copyright © **_Robert Kirkman_**


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